Time After Time
by theglamourfades
Summary: "Stuck in two worlds, your heart tied to both of them. But you can't live in both forever." Alex has a decision to make, with little time to delay. But will the final reckoning come as easy as she always suspected it would? S2 set, goes AU. Sequel to Addicted To Love and What's a Queen to a Goddess?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic is the sequel to _Addicted To Love_ and follows on almost immediately from _What's a Queen to a Goddess?_ S2 set (starting after 2.4), but mixes things up a little in places and will eventually be AU. You don't have to have read those stories to follow this one, as it will be partly set in canon (with some variations), but I would love it if you wanted to do so :)**

 **I've been planning this story for *so* long in my head - and I still am - and have no idea how long it will be (and by that reckoning how long it will take to finish), so strap yourselves in for the ride!**

 **Ashes To Ashes and its characters belong to Matthew Graham and Ashley Pharoah / Kudos.**

* * *

 _Time After Time_

 _Chapter 1_

 _Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick  
_ _And think of you  
_ _Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new  
_ _Flashback - warm nights - almost left behind  
_ _Suitcases of memories, time after -_

* * *

 _Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock, tick tock. Tiiiiick..._

The sound was fast becoming the only thing she could hear, both within her dreams – as few and far between as they were nowadays – and her conscious thoughts. Invading everything, a constant presence surrounding her everywhere she turned. Of course it had to be significant and it didn't take much of a stretch to figure out why.

 _Is time running out? And if it is, where – here, or back there?_

Back in a place where everything seemed black and dark grey, nothing distinct apart from blurry shapes moving past her closed eyes and the occasional voice speaking above the constant _tick tock, tick tock, tick tock._

 _Infuriating bloody noise. Just give me some peace._

She stared at the clock sitting on her desk, its black panels with the revolving white figures appearing to be stuck, staying firm in place well past sixty seconds. Her hand reached out to bring it closer, shaking it lightly and nestling it to her ear. The engine within it remained silent, unable to compete with the cacophony that was playing inside her head.

As well as the sound knocking against her temples without any let up there was pain too. Dull and persistent at the sides, intensifying as it travelled to the centre, resulting in a sharp pulsation that came out of the blue every few hours, so agonising that it caused her breathing to become shallow and her limbs and organs to seize up. She had taken a couple of paracetamol at regular intervals, wondering whether she should go for something stronger. She drew back from the impulse, knowing that she needed to focus. It was enough of a battle as it was keeping her head straight without putting chemicals into the mix; she was the type to tough out the pain, hardly ever relying on any crutches to bring her through.

Silence descended for seconds and a small burst of light battled through the darkness.

 _I know what this is._

One of those vague voices coming out of the ether, the words they spoke becoming distinguishable.

" _Levels stabilising. I think that she might be ready, at long last."_

 _Oh, god. Is this it?_

" _Can you hear us, Alex? If you stay like this for another hour or so, we're going to bring you down to theatre. Get rid of this bullet and have you as good as new."_

 _Just a bit longer. A bit longer, then I swear, I'll be ready._

" _She's dropping..."_

" _Ah. Might have spoken too soon..."_

The voices drowned out and the sound returned, louder than it had been before.

 _Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock._

Normal service resumed, almost.

She blinked her eyes open blearily, seeing a slightly-fuzzy looking DC Skelton standing in front of her desk.

"Ma'am?"

She rubbed her hands against her face, her vision clearing once she had done so and the sound lulling within the caverns of her mind.

"Chris."

"Got the file on Johnston," he offered it out to her and she looked at it rather than the concerned expression upon his face. "A few things 'ere and there, but no convictions. Must be good at slippin' away."

Alex straightened in her chair, laying the file flat on her desk and studying what was detailed inside.

"Thank you, Chris. This is a very good starting point."

"You're kiddin'."

She raised her head to find the voice of dissent in the room, his body twisted in his seat and smouldering cigarette between his fingers.

"Did I catch something, DS Carling?"

Ray furrowed his brows, leaning his weight forward.

"We've got his file, and we know 'e was there at the scene. That means there's nothin' stoppin' us from marchin' to his hidin' place right now and smashin' the bloody door down."

She took a deep breath in. Staying in control was not a problem.

"We have information on one suspect. Everything that there is tells us that Johnston wasn't working alone. He's one link in a chain." She picked the file up as she got to her feet, presenting what was inside to the room. "We have to dig deeper and that takes time. The whole case could risk imploding if we rush in head first without exploring all the avenues."

Ray lowered his gaze to the floor, head shaking to and fro. "This is exactly why women should never be put in charge. They change their minds more often than they change their bloody knickers."

A few of the other members of CID chuckled at DS Carling's comment, before being silenced by Alex staring towards them in turn.

"I think you'll find that I am permanently your superior," she exclaimed, landing her eyes firmly back upon Ray, "and for as long as the Guv isn't here then I am the acting DCI, and you will follow my orders."

He looked away from her, lips curving as he brought the cigarette back towards his mouth and addressed the rest of the room. "And we all know why she's tetchy...the sooner the Guv gets back and gives 'er a good seein' to, the better."

"For once, I agree with you, DS Carling," her voice echoed in the room, causing a few faces to drain of colour as they desperately tried not to meet her eyes, "and at least I am getting action on a regular basis. I reckon it's been a good few months since you've had so much as a hand-job."

Laughter erupted in the room, Ray's eyes going wide before he got to his feet with a start.

"Bloody 'ell, I don't need this. Someone let me know when there's somethin' actually worth stayin' awake for."

Alex looked up towards the clock that hung above the doors of CID as Ray tore towards them, certain that her eyes couldn't be deceiving her.

"Can anyone else see that?" she questioned the room, pointing towards the time-piece with its hands held suspended. "All of them have stopped...it must mean something. Everyone, check your watches."

She pulled at the sleeve of her jumper, finding that she had forgotten to put hers on that morning.

"Mine's fine, Ma'am," Chris tapped at his wrist, "I've 'ad it for five years and it's never gone dead. Casio, quality."

She shook her head, hearing the ticking come louder and stronger against her head, watching the lights on the ceiling turn off one by one until only one was left, shining intensely above her head like a spotlight.

"I can't be the only one who can hear it..."

Being met with deathly silence and quizzical looks she composed herself, saving up the fear for a later hour.

"Okay, I'm going to take five. And then...then we'll figure out what the next step is."

Once in the kitchenette she turned on the cold tap, filling a glass with water and wincing as she glugged a measure. Not enough time had passed since her last self-prescribed dosage and so there was nothing she could do except ride it out. _This too shall pass._

He'd been gone four days but it felt like much longer. She kept telling herself that she was the one in control, that she could cope. The uncomfortable truth was that things didn't feel right without him there. The guardian and the gatekeeper; judge, jury and executioner. No matter how hard she tried to keep it all together it felt like the world was at danger of falling to pieces at any minute, the longer that he wasn't around.

It was a big case, requiring involvement from forces across the country. It had been lucky for them that he'd been called upon, given all the accusations and rumours that had been flying around about the competence of the Met. A lot of the top dogs heading it up. This was very serious business indeed.

She couldn't shake the feeling that there was another level to it though. An elaborate cover to mask something much darker and far more dangerous. The bad atmosphere hadn't died with Mac and the unnerving sensations wouldn't lie still within her veins. God, if something happened to him then she didn't know what she would do. She had no idea what it would mean for her, where she would end up.

 _The thudding of his heart sounded against her ear_ _as she lay with her head pillowed upon his chest, his arm circled about her waist keeping her anchored to him. The room was getting lighter, a new day gradually dawning._

" _Do you think this is about Mac? Maybe they know what was going on, or they found out that we were onto him. What if someone else higher up is pulling all of the strings?"_

" _Bloody 'ell, Bols. Didn't realise this was a game of twenty questions."_

 _She glanced upwards, catching sight of his eyes staring at her._

" _Sorry. I'm making too much of this, I know." Her hand drifted, drawing little lines over the creases in his skin, warm underneath her fingertips. "There's just something I don't like about you being dragged into it."_

 _He grunted and she felt the vibration against her cheek. "Because it couldn't 'ave anythin' to do with my great expertise. You know 'ow to hit me right where it hurts, Bolly."_

 _She raised herself onto her elbow, finding him with a pout firm upon his face._

" _Mac hasn't actually been replaced yet. What if they're looking for someone to step into his shoes?"_

" _You mean me? I think there's more chance of the Pope retirin' and becomin' a world-class gigolo."_

 _Her soft laughter broke the silence, her hand moving up to stroke his neck._

" _You've never thought about becoming Superintendent? But you've worked so hard. If anyone deserves it..."_

 _He shook his head upon the pillow, gazing up at the ceiling._

" _Not for me. I want to be out there makin' a difference, not 'oled up in pointless meetings and with a stack of case-files longer than Raymondo's face when United get battered. As far as I'm concerned, I'm at the top of the pile as it is."_

 _His hand planted itself at the small of her back, tugging down the sheets so that he could get a good eyeful of her naked backside._

" _Besides I wouldn't 'ave the pleasure of lookin' at your lovely figure wigglin' about day in day out, Bols, and that is a crime in itself."_

" _No, you'd just have to make do with the nights." She dipped her head, laying her lips upon his throat and collarbone, delighting in hearing him groan as her hand wandered lower upon his body. "I wouldn't change a thing about you, so it's just as well, really."_

" _You surprise me, Bolly," he murmured, "thought you 'ad a list."_

 _As she shook her head her lips brushed back and forth against his skin._

" _I couldn't and wouldn't answer directly to that shower of dickheads," he reaffirmed his conviction, pulling her back up by the waist towards him, "not for all the money in the world. And especially not if they did 'ave a clue and did sod all to stop what was happenin'."_

 _She rested her head in the crook of his neck, could hardly get closer to him if she tried. His hand stroking against her arm helped to calm her somewhat but she couldn't settle as still as the night that was fading into the burgeoning day, the clock at the bedside ticking as steadily as the beat of his heart._

" _Promise me," she began, doing what she could to stop the shake from sounding in her voice, "that you'll stay safe."_

 _She heard him expel a sigh, his hand caressing beneath her chin and then his lips pressing lightly against her forehead._

" _You 'ave my word, Bols. Don't you worry about the Gene-Genie; he's indestructible."_

But that was the problem. He was as vulnerable as the rest of them, just as much of a target, if not even more so. The images flashed into her head, of Gene lying on a mortuary slab, a gunshot wound square between his eyes. The idea on its own was enough to make her break.

She was on the verge of tears, managing to stop herself from dissolving when a uniformed Shaz walked through to join her.

"You alright, Ma'am?" the soft voice asked, taking her by surprise.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." She felt the younger woman's eyes upon her, not entirely convinced by her reassurance. "What are you doing here? Are you feeling better?"

"Loads," she chirped, and her eyes did look a lot brighter than they had been a couple of days previous. "I think it must have just been something I ate."

"That's good," Alex smiled at her colleague. "You didn't need to come rushing back, you know."

"I was bored out of my skull, Ma'am. There's only so much daytime TV one person can take." Shaz returned the smile, unveiling a cellophane bundle hidden behind her back. "I saw this when I was coming in, it's addressed to you."

Her heart hammered sickeningly in her throat as she took the single red rose from Shaz's hands; it had been so long since the last, and somehow not long enough. She stared down at the blood-red petals, the thorns that were hidden amidst the cellophane wrapping, a coldness washing over her.

Putting it down onto the counter she looked up again to find Shaz wearing a misty-eyed grin.

"Is it from the Guv? That's so sweet if it is."

 _Oh, if only._

Alex let out a faltering laugh. "It's not really his style."

She felt the flower possessing her, thorns pricking at her skin and poison seeping into her bloodstream.

"I know what you mean," Shaz went on, sympathising and trying to provide a distraction, though she wasn't aware that she was doing so, "Chris buys me an extra bag of chips, or a chocolate bar, and that's his idea of romance. It was a Marathon last week."

"Oh yes, I remember those," she exclaimed, her equilibrium yet thrown further out of line.

"I can't complain though," Shaz continued, flashing her left hand. "I mean, I still can't believe it. And I don't even want to know where he got the money from for this, but I don't care."

"It's beautiful, Shaz," Alex smiled, finding that she couldn't do much else when the younger woman exuded as much happiness as she did. "You're both very lucky. Any thoughts about dates?"

"I dunno. I quite like the idea of a winter wedding, but I think my mum and dad would prefer something more traditional."

"I'm sure it'll be lovely, whenever it is."

"Thanks, Ma'am. You know that we want you and the Guv to be guests of honour."

She felt her smile crack at the mention of Gene. "That's if he gets back from wherever he is in time."

He'd rung once, the night after he had departed with the call lasting for all of a minute. Every time the phone had gone off since she had picked it up eagerly, hoping to hear his voice down the line. When it wasn't him and that other voice came forth instead she slammed down the receiver, finding it difficult to carry on with her day.

"He'll be alright, Ma'am," Shaz offered, her head tilted to the side. "He's the Guv; he can handle himself, if anyone can."

"I know," Alex sighed, wishing she had the ability to pinpoint exactly where he was at this very moment in time. "I'm just finding it tricky at the moment. Being an acting DCI isn't easy, especially when you've got breasts."

"Oh, don't take any notice of Ray," Shaz frowned, "everyone knows that he talks out of his arse. I'd like to see him try and do what you're doing, he wouldn't last five minutes until he had to go and have a pint to stop himself stressing out."

"I'm probably being unfair to him. I still don't think everything has sunk in about Mac." She wasn't sure that it ever would, but perhaps that was part of her still being here – to make things right again. "I forget how highly-strung he is."

"Honestly, he's worse than any girl I've ever known," Shaz exclaimed, rolling her eyes at the thought of Ray. "You're doing brilliantly, Ma'am. Don't let any of them tell you otherwise."

"Thanks, Shaz. It's good to know that someone is on my side."

The younger woman beamed a smile, already reaching for mugs from the cupboard, as was habitual.

"You'd better put that in water, you don't want it to die."

"No," Alex mumbled, her eyes going back to the rose as Shaz headed off to CID. Her intention was to throw it straight into the bin, but that hadn't done much to perturb the culprit so far, so perhaps she should put it on display, at least until Gene was back again.

She edged the petals of the single rose with her fingers, half expecting her fingertips to become singed. Noticing that there was a card half-hidden by the cellophane, she pulled the wrapping back and plucked up the small scrap. It was indeed addressed to _D.I. Drake_.

Flicking it over in her fingers, she absorbed the apparently simple message.

 _Don't play hard to get._

A chorus of raucous noise could be heard from the room a couple of doors down, distracting her helpfully before she could spiral too far. She filled the glass back up with water, being careful with the stem of the flower as she removed it from its wrapping. Exhaling a breath she stood back on her heels, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she held herself on the spot for a moment or two, allowing herself a little bit longer.

They were trying hard, but it still wasn't enough to drown out the sound she had become too accustomed to.

* * *

She kept going to Luigi's with the rest of the team once the time to clock off rolled around. It was good to maintain a routine. The man himself fussed over her, brought over bigger portions of food which she could only get halfway through.

Every evening his question was the same and his look more sympathetic when she gave her answer.

" _When will Signor Hunt be back, Signorina?"_

"Soon," she affirmed, half-believing the conviction she spoke with. _If he bothered to dig out twenty pence for the payphone more often I might be clearer about exactly when._ "Don't worry, he'll be draining the bar dry and single-handedly bumping up your profits again before you know it."

She made out Luigi's smile and head-tilt through her wine-filled gaze, realising that she probably had had enough for another night.

"Oh, is not me I'm thinking of," he replied. "You're not the same without 'im. _Due metà fanno un intero._ "

Alex waved her glass in the air, thinking that she really should have paid more attention in Italian class.

"As long as I can keep feasting on that delicious tiramisu, I think I'll crawl by."

Her eyes drifted shut as the trattoria owner moved into the distance, the world whirling before her in a dark blur. She could feel her limbs becoming weightless, her whole body floating as everything that surrounded her dissipated into light, smoke or scent.

" _I don't think she's going to make it. We're doing all we can and look, no response."_

She felt a tapping against her hand. _Get off. I am trying, I really am_. It took her all of her effort to attempt to move her little finger – she felt the surge of force through her veins, pushing down upon her – but it just proved impossible.

" _Maybe a little bit longer. If we do something else to help. It's so tragic; she's got years ahead of her."_

 _That's right. I won't stop fighting._ Years and years, time stretching out endlessly before her.

In the 1980's or the new millennium? She could feel herself almost splitting in two, being cleaved, heart and soul.

" _I think she needs a miracle, if I'm honest. Come on, Alex. Push back. Show us that you're fighting."_

Tap, tap, tap. Prod, prod, poke.

"Will you bloody stop that!"

"Sorry, Ma'am," Shaz shrunk back in her chair, snatching her hand away and moving in nearer to Chris. "You were noddin' off. I thought you wouldn't want to fall asleep in front of us all."

She fought to shake the drowsiness away, the dull ache pressing down upon the back of her skull.

"No...thanks, Shaz. I should...I should probably call it a night."

"Do you want me to see you up, Ma'am?" Chris offered, standing up and remaining oblivious to the sneers of the others. "I reckon the Guv would want that."

She smiled at the DC, signalling for him to resume his seat. "It's fine, thank you, Chris. Have fun, everyone. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"That doesn't leave us with a lot of options," Ray murmured underneath his breath.

She moved from the trattoria out into the street, shivering in her leather jacket as she went the short distance to the flat. Locking the door behind her she didn't bother to look beneath her soles as she ascended the staircase, missing the trail completely.

 _My god, it's freezing in here_. Her breath was almost visible as she exhaled, her body shuddering with each step she took.

Lights began to flicker, causing her to wince. From somewhere in the back of her brain she could hear those voices back again.

" _At the very least, she's not the worst case."_

" _No, that's a point. You think the plug would have been pulled by now..."_

Her senses weren't hampered enough for her to fail to notice that her door was ajar, a chink of light falling through to the outside. A shiver coursed up her spine as she ventured slowly forward, wishing she would have been armed at this very moment, but her gun had been left behind at the station.

The thought occurred to her that perhaps it might have been Gene, deciding to take her by surprise by turning up unannounced, a pair of tumblers dangling from his gloved hands as he was sprawled across the sofa, overcoat still on.

She pushed the door further open with the toe of her boot, frantically trying to calm her frayed nerves. Telling herself that she was in control or at the very least that she didn't have to run too far to find safety.

The shadow of the seated figure was high upon the wall, illuminated by bright light. Enough to tell her that it wasn't the man she had hoped to find.

As she stepped behind the door, leaving herself a little leeway to make a quick escape, he turned to face her, a small smile sewn onto his face.

"Hello, Alex."

That voice, the one that haunted her every thought.

She almost believed that the ability to speak had been stolen from her, until she pushed herself against her barriers.

"Who are you?" The question she'd asked the faceless illusion over and over in her mind, so many times that she had lost count.

Several _tick-tocks_ , filled in with sickeningly slow heartbeats, passed until he answered.

"My name is Martin Summers."

* * *

 **A/N: Bloody Summers...!**

 **Lyrics from** _ **Time After** **Time**_ **by Cyndi Lauper and Rob Hyman.**

 **If you enjoyed / are intrigued / would like to venture a guess at what the hell might happen, I'd love to hear it :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So what's Summers after? Why is Alex hearing all this strange stuff? You may recognise some of the dialogue in this chapter...**

* * *

 _Chapter 2_

" _My name is Martin Summers."_

A perfectly ordinary name for a perfectly ordinary man. _At least he seemed such on the surface_. She wasn't quite sure what she had pictured for the phantom who had terrorised her, seeped into her bloodstream like an injection administered. He was middle-aged, tall – perhaps, she couldn't make out exactly how much by the way he was folded onto the chair. _Her_ chair. He didn't have any particularly distinguishing features, aside from his voice. He could have been anyone who passed her on the street.

There wasn't anything especially menacing about him, apart from the intent stare he was fixing her with. He made no attempt to move from where he sat; instead he shifted in order to make himself more comfortable.

She felt herself freeze for quite a different reason.

"How...what the hell are you doing in here?" Her vocal cords were apparently the only part of her not paralysed by fear. It was like before, when she had pictured herself so vividly in the hospital bed, unable to make the smallest movement. Her breath felt tight and foreign in her chest.

He took a while to answer her, weighing up what to say.

"I took my chance," he concluded, glancing past her shoulder for a second. "While your Guv's away..."

Gene was in her mind again, before he'd even brought him into being, charging forth from behind her back and ready to attack, teeth bared. _Get out, Bols. I'll take care of this._ She could see him slide his hand beneath his overcoat, the cover of shadow over him, broken by the gleam of the barrel beneath. A shield surrounded her, impenetrable. Even so she could feel herself shake, imploring him not to act on the only thought he had in his mind as he pointed his gun squarely at Summers.

 _No, Gene. You can't do this._

She was fenced in by the bubble around her, her pleas hitting the pliable walls. His hand was as steady as a rock.

 _Bolly, get the fuck out. I'm not havin' you implicated._

She heard the retraction of the trigger, felt the heat rise to her head as she braced herself, partly grateful that it would all be over in a second or so.

His image vanished like smoke before her eyes as she blinked. Of course; another fevered illusion. Her mind was working overtime creating them.

She raised a hand to her head, a feeble attempt to stop the pulsing against her temples. Summers remained unfazed.

"What was I supposed to do, Alex?" The way he used her name unnerved her; she'd grown out of the habit of being addressed by it. "You've been ignoring everything I've left for you. You won't meet with me."

Her heart went slow while he stared at her; she could hear murmurs from somewhere – warnings, perhaps? – but the silence in the room was overwhelming, drowned the other sounds out until it was an unwinnable fight.

"Don't be scared," he said, steady and calm.

A stuttering laugh left her lips. "You make intimidating phone calls, you send me roses like some sort of crazed stalker. You try and poison me. And I'm supposed to believe that I shouldn't be scared of you?"

"I regret the poisoning," his chin lowered, his fingers twitching upon his knee, "but I had to make sure that you were the person I was looking for. And now I know you are."

She kept her eyes upon him, unsure of what he was going to do from one second to the next. The cold worked its way steadily from her toes to snake up each of her limbs, claiming her further with each second that passed.

He chuckled suddenly. "You don't like roses; I'll make a note of that. Though it's rather unfortunate, considering."

"Get out," she ordered, a rush of courage charging up through her, making it in time before her heart froze over and her pulse stopped dead in her veins. "If you don't go in the next couple of minutes..."

"You'll call the police?" he cut in. "We both know that won't be very effective."

His hand nestled into his coat and her senses sickened, wondering if the image she'd had of Gene aiming fire had been a premonition.

It wasn't a gun that he brought out, but instead a warrant card.

"You're...a cop?"

Again, he didn't respond immediately, turning the card over in his hand.

"I was. Retired now. Retired, and disgraced."

She noted how he clutched onto the item, his knuckles turning almost white with the force.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But I don't know what you want me to do about it."

The same slow smile that he had wore when she first came face to face with him was back.

"You can change things, Alex. This could be your exit route, you know." His grip relaxed, slipping the warrant card back to where it had rested previously. "Roses are red, violets are blue; you'll soon find out, Alex Drake, why it has to be you."

Her mind became a whirl, thoughts rushing around without any leash. _Rose, rose...Operation Rose_. It had been what Mac had uttered with one of his dying breaths. He'd warned them about it, looked genuinely fearful as he looked up towards Gene, the last person he ever saw. _There's something else. Bigger. Rose._

It made sense, as much as she could fathom from the fractured pieces. But where Summers fit in she didn't know. _If he's telling the truth...how can I be sure?_ She looked into his eyes, him believing he was giving nothing away.

"I'm not interested in you romantically, so you can rest easy about that." That smirk again; an idea that he was being funny, somehow. "But you are important. It's a mutual thing. A bond. You could say that we have a connection."

Using that string of words in particular. He knew what he was doing. _But how much did he know?_

Her heels went back slowly, gradually backing herself towards the door.

"I don't think you're very well, Mr Summers."

He laughed again. "You're right there. Takes one to know one."

The lights flickered again without interference from either of them. She heard the ticking, knocking against her head, but now there was another sound accompanying it. A low, whining _beep_.

He looked down at his hands, easing himself further forward.

"Molly brings you flowers. Tulips, I think. Colourful, pretty."

She had been but an inch from the door, so close to leaving, but at the mention of her daughter she found herself being drawn back. Though it was night and the curtains were drawn a bright flash of light flooded the room; for a fleeting moment she could make out Molly's face within it, looking straight towards her. Smiling.

It was so strange; she hadn't had a clear picture of Molly for so long, had started to believe that she was fading from her memory completely. Yet the closer she came to Summers the more vivid her daughter became. Her features, the detail on her school uniform; everything was so tangible, so real. She could have reached out to touch; her heart ached to do so.

"They don't allow flowers on the high-dependency unit, though," Summers continued, though his voice was but a distant echo to Alex as she focused on her daughter's face, visible over his shoulder. "Too much risk of infection. And we wouldn't want that, not when you're so close to getting back."

She could see the bouquet with pink wrapping that Molly clutched in her hands, raising her gaze to look back into her daughter's face. Her lips were moving; she was mouthing something, something that Alex couldn't hear but which she was trying hard to make out. One hand dropped to her side, before it was clutched by that of another. _Evan_.

" _You need to give her time to rest, Scrap."_ His voice came out above all the other noises, the high-pitches and the cavernous silence. _"Come on, we'll go home. Put those in water for next time. We don't want them to..."_

 _Beeeeep._

 _Molls. Don't go. Stay, please._

But then she was gone, disappeared completely. Alex felt herself physically lurch, swaying on her feet; the loss of her little girl one which was drawn out, designed to cause her the deepest pain.

All the while she was aware of Summers staring at her, his suppressed smile at her obvious confusion.

"You can't possibly...how can you...how do you know?"

"I thought it would have been obvious by now," he answered her rambling question, making no move to get to his feet and help or steady her. "We're in the same hospital. I'm in the room next to you. I'm from exactly where you are."

She didn't believe it until whole minutes passed between him saying it and saying anything else.

"2008."

It surprised her more than she expected; she shouldn't have been so egotistical to believe that there was nobody else here going through the same thing. After all, Sam Tyler had experienced it, but as far as she was aware he was the only one that had been transported in his '70s existence. Perhaps she thought that more evidence would have presented itself before now.

"It took me a bit of getting used to, as well," he said, as though reading her mind. "There aren't a lot of people here from the other world. Apparently you and I are the only two."

How could he possibly know that to be the case? Did he have some kind of information, knowledge that she wasn't privy to? What had happened to him – had he been shot, run down by a car or something else entirely? The questions gathered and enlarged, not helpful in the slightest.

The thought crossed her mind – a dangerous one, she knew. What if he was wrong and there were others? People very close by, if not at the present moment. It could explain so much, the connection she felt.

"Is that why you're here?" she began, still reeling from the revelation, "To help me get home?"

 _Home_. She'd almost given up hope. The image of Molly she had glimpsed moments previous was still burned into her brain, giving her reassurance and a strange sense of sadness.

"You and I are the only two people here who actually know what that means." He smiled deeper, almost sinister, a laugh emerging from his lips. "Still, it is a relief to talk about it, yes?"

She wasn't sure whether _relief_ was the first emotion she would reach for.

"As for helping _you_ , well, that depends." The silence echoed against the four walls. "I don't have the power. You said it yourself, I'm not a well man."

So he was in more peril than she was? One of the voices returned to her; _she's not the worst case._

"It's a two-way thing, Alex. You're going to have to trust me. You help _me_ , you work with me on this and it'll be beneficial for the both of us."

He leaned forward, met her eyes with his own. She tried to wrack her brain, think of whether she had known any Martin Summers. Everything from the future was so hazy; she could barely remember details that should have been fundamental, never mind anything else, any acquaintances she might have been in contact with.

"How do I know that you're telling the truth? You could just be telling me what I want to hear for all I know."

"1997. The year Princess Diana died. I was at her funeral." His smile was increasingly out of place. "It's funny seeing her here, a newlywed. If only she knew what we did, eh?" He reached into the outer pocket of his coat. "Look, the proof."

She swallowed hard, shaking as she took the newspaper cutting from his hand, dated _31st August 1997._

"You're not the only one who's dying here, Alex. Mine is a very slow and painful death, but here...here I can live the life that I want. I could go back, but I don't want to. You, on the other hand, have a decision to make as to what you're willing to do."

She could see the invisible rose petals falling from his hands, cascading onto her, staining her skin.

"You want me to be corrupt. That's what...that's what it is."

"Think about it, Alex. In six months time, when Molly's face has faded from your memory for good, then you'll be begging me to help you."

The agonising stab an inch or so away from her heart dug deeper, the thought of losing her daughter completely too much to bear. Another face formulated, the betrayal written clear upon his face causing her just as much pain. They trusted one another implicitly now and he valued trust above everything else, having been let down too many times before. To shatter that sacred faith; she couldn't see how she could do it.

"I haven't got much time to wait for an answer. And sadly, neither have you."

The ticking was back in her head, the ticking and the beeping of the machinery that was monitoring her signs of life.

" _Alex. Hang in there, Alex. You're strong."_

" _A little bit longer, then they'll take you down to theatre and get that bullet out."_

Summers' eyes upon her, waiting for her answer, her compliance.

The illusion behind her eyes again, standing in front of her, pleading for her undivided attention.

 _Bolly! You listen to me, Bols. This is where you belong. You and me, we're a team. Fightin' the rot together._

"I can't," she uttered, her voice weak and her heart hammering against her chest. "I'm sorry, but I can't. There must be someone else."

He looked at her, a surprising lack of disbelief in his eyes. Ankles crossed, he sank back against the chair, steepling his hands upon his chest.

"You know, Alex, I think we're more alike than you'd like to really believe. Certainly more than I'd bargained upon. I thought you'd be biting my hand off, the chance to make it back."

She stared at him but it was ineffectual. She had never met him before, could recall nothing because there was nothing there to begin with.

"I don't think you want to go back either," he said, full of assurance. "All this ignoring, hanging up the phone and running away. It's because you want to stay exactly where you are, right here."

She didn't feel that she should dignify that with a spoken answer, shaking her head instead.

"I understand," he went on, "more than anyone, I understand. My life was a mess. So much had happened, things that I couldn't control or change. Nothing had gone the way I wanted it to. And I think the same goes for you."

"Who are you to say what my life was like?" She was shaking, the anger swelling within her.

"Parents blown up. Divorced young. Single mother. The only meaningful relationship you have, outside of Molly and Evan, is with your work." He paused for a moment, drawing his hand up towards his collar. "I'm parched. You don't have anything to drink, do you?"

She ignored his request, focusing her building rage upon fighting back against his assertions, proving him wrong.

"I was happy. I will be happy again, when I get home." She stood firm, pouring her belief into the words she was saying. "That's all I need. To get back home."

He smiled, shaking his head. "I know you're trying to convince yourself, Alex. But you can't play the mind games with me. You have to be honest. It's a different world here, and you fought it at first, but now you've settled in. Found your place. I mean, as far as I'm aware there aren't many other female DIs in the Met, not in 1982. That has to mean something, being a trailblazer."

"That doesn't mean anything to me."

"Really?" he questioned. "Oh well, maybe I'm wrong on that account. Maybe it's the change of pace in general. The fast car, the thrills...you can feel your heart thundering against your chest, can't you?"

She tried to ignore it, keen not to give in so easily. But it answered for her, thumping against her ribcage, blood flowing at a quicker speed.

"You're more alive here, Alex. Admit it."

The tears sprang to her eyes as she considered. Perhaps she had been holding herself back, dismissing things purposefully, getting too comfortable. It would explain why her memory had been so unreliable, dipping in and out like a scrambled radio frequency.

"We share nurses at the hospital. I hear them talking. Do you know that you've only said one word since you got there?" He stared at her hard, rooting her to the moment. "Just the one. _Gene."_

She could feel her breath still in her body. The reason why she found everything so bearable, why she wasn't turning herself inside out.

"Well, it's no great surprise, is it?" She fought to keep her voice even, to sound halfway sane. "I mean, this world...it's a maze. He's the one constant."

At least he was most of the time. She felt angry with him suddenly; if he had been here maybe she wouldn't have had to come face to face with Summers, confront the truth of the reality she was spiralling in.

"It's a good job poor Molly wasn't around to hear you say it." He seemed to relish making her revel in pain. "What would she think to her mother forgetting her, replacing her?"

 _No. No, it's not like that. I'm doing this to get back._

"I love my daughter more than anything!" The cry came emphatically from her throat, causing her whole body to tremble. "My whole time is spent fighting for her. I will not have you make me out to be a traitor!"

She felt the energy being drained from her, thinking of Molly and of Gene, not bearing them being pitted against one another in some twisted game.

"But you love him too, don't you?" He was the one to say it. "And that is the problem you have. Stuck in two worlds, your heart tied to both of them. But you can't live in both forever. Sooner or later, something has to give."

As much as she hated to hear it, wanted to continue living in denial – with Molly in her heart and Gene in her head, or was it the other way round? – she knew that he was right. But she didn't see how she was in the wrong. She was trying everything she could, and she had told Gene that she might not be around forever. She had been very careful not to lie to him, but she also hadn't told him the truth. Because if she did, she knew that she would lose him for good and she couldn't risk that, not when he could still be the key.

"I don't know what to do," she exclaimed, aware that she sounded desperate. "You tell me. I mean, you're managing it, aren't you? The world hasn't imploded yet."

Summers smiled. "I've made my choice. It's a matter of time. You're still on the edge, Alex."

She could feel herself wavering; something as slight as a change in the wind could be the influence, one way or the other.

"But you say that I can help you. Judging by what you're saying, I don't think you need any help."

"That's where you're wrong," he replied. "Nobody walks this world alone. Not even here. You see, I can help you, but you have to figure out what you want first."

Molly. Of course she wanted Molly. Her life was back in 2008, everything she knew, everything she had worked for. It might have been a broken life at times, but it was hers.

Here...what was she?

She could hear Gene's voice in her head right now, telling her exactly. _You're part of a team, Bolly. You're appreciated. Valued. We can't do this without yer. We need you._

 _I need you._

The words she was sure she would never hear him say, but which she longed to hear with all her heart.

Summers spoke again, breaking the one-way conversation that Gene's illusionary self was having with her.

"I could walk out of here and make the decision for you, if you like. I know where Evan White lives. I think he'd probably thank me if I finished him as well."

"No..." Horror flooded her as she came to realise what he was implying. _The sick bastard._

"It'd be quick, painless. I always was a good shot. Her parents are already dead so they won't grieve. And no Alex Price means no Molly Drake, either. Nothing to feel guilty about. A win-win situation."

The way he was talking, so calm and collected, made her skin crawl and her stomach sick.

"No," she repeated, "no, I can't let her die. I'm _her_ , for god's sake. What would even happen?"

He flashed a chilling smile. "You're giving it some thought. It's only natural, you like figuring things out. You'd still be you, Alex, just with none of the painful memories plaguing you. I know, it's confusing, but it'd have to be preferable, surely?"

He was mad. He had to be. There was no other reasonable explanation for it. She was back to her previous line of thinking, believing that he had been stringing her along, appealing to her vulnerabilities.

"Wouldn't it be all you ever wanted, Alex? Making a life here, with Hunt. Getting married, having a kid of your own. Sounds perfect to me, and I'm just an outsider."

She wanted to fall to her knees, cry out in pain, but she had to remain in control. Nothing about this was fair. Nothing at all. She had never asked for this and this encounter was just twisting the knife further.

It was her own fault, for believing she could be involved with Gene and that there would be no consequences. How could she have been so sure she was playing by the rules when she had no idea what they were?

He rose to his feet and at last she could ascertain how tall he was, standing a fraction shorter than Gene.

"I realise that this is a lot to take in," he said, drawing close to where she stood, "why don't you sleep on it and I'll come back tomorrow, you can give me your answer then."

She didn't need that long to wait, eyes flaring as she looked towards him.

"You never come back again," she spat, "you don't call me or send me any more roses. I don't trust you and I don't need you to get back. I can do it all on my own, no matter how long it takes."

He stared at her hard, smirking a little before he spoke.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Alex. Wherever you are, time is short." His words were blunt, laced with a poison he took pride in speaking. "Stay or go, it's up to you. But one way or another, you will help me. That you can rely on."

He fixed her with a final look before heading for the door. She hoped she would remember that she needed to get the locks changed in the morning, but her head was so sore.

"You might want to get something stronger for the pain," he said, turning around briefly, "can't have you compromised, now. That'd be bad for the both of us."

She rushed to the door, slamming her hand against it as he closed it before she could. Trying to steady her breathing she leant her forehead upon it, the ache travelling round to the centre once more, making it hard for her to keep her eyes open or maintain her balance.

"Why," she stuttered, her hand desperate against the plain, "why aren't you here, when I need you?"

The faces were interchangeable in her mind, switching so fast that she didn't know which one she was addressing.

Her cure that night was not an increased dose of medication, but a hot bath and a few glasses of wine. She switched the television enough when its brightness was too much for her eyes and crawled her way along to the bedroom, letting the sheets cover her over her head.

It had been so long since she had had a deep sleep; she was always just on the edge. Too frightened of what might happen, she supposed.

She fought, murmured her discontentment as she turned upon her pillow. But the presence wouldn't leave her, not now that he had been made real.

 _You can rely on me, Alex_ , he said, taunting her in her fragmented dreams, _more than anything else._

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah, just as creepy and even crueller. Poor Alex.**

 **Don't lose faith - I promise that a certain Manc Lion will reappear very soon...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for reading so far! Guess who's back in this chapter (well, it's probably not that hard to guess...)?**

* * *

 _Chapter 3_

Summers quickly left her alone, though she couldn't help feeling he had only moved to the sidelines, watching and waiting to see which choice she would make, as though his life depended on it too.

 _She was in her hospital room, limbs rigid and harsh light above her head. The only part of her that she could move were her eyes and she blinked them open to see Molly sitting at the end of her bed._

 _A rush of pure love filled her – not enough to activate her body, but her heart was bursting. She had missed her daughter so much, had almost lost hope of ever being with her again, conscious. If only she could reach out and touch her, but she mustn't run before she could walk. She had the feeling that she would need to aim for crawling first._

 _Molls - she said in her mind, having the inability to speak - come closer. Don't be scared, it's me. I'm alright. So much better for seeing you._

 _Molly smiled at her and it was the most wonderful sight she had seen in her life. Her gaze dropped, and she wondered what it was that was occupying her daughter's attention. Molly held the single flower up in her hand, clutching onto it by its stem._

 _A rose._

 _The fingers of her other hand smoothed over the crimson petals, careful and delicate until she began to pull at them with some force. Alex felt the blows as if they were landing upon her chest._

" _Mum loves me," she uttered as one petal was discarded, "Mum loves me not." Another went fluttering down._

 _Her whole body bucked with fear, finding it unbearable to listen to the same four words that her little girl repeated, over and over._

 _Molls, please, don't do this. You know that I love you, more than anything._

 _Only one petal remained clinging on, the rest scattered upon the bed, covering Alex's feet._

" _Why won't you wake up, properly?" Molly's voice questioned her, sorrow and anger mixing together. "Why won't you come back, if you love me?"_

 _Oh, Molls, I'm trying. I really am. It's not that easy..._

 _Her face transformed into a scowl, making Alex's heart throb with agony. Instead of pulling off the final petal – she was certain that the last one had been a 'not' – Molly's hand moved down towards the flower's stem._

 _Molls, be careful. The thorns..._

 _She ignored the silent plea, pressing her fingers against the sharp points, blood beginning to trickle down upon the white sheets and the fallen petals._

 _A nurse entered the room and Alex hoped she would take notice, wrestle the desiccated flower from her daughter's grasp._

 _Please, Molls, stop hurting yourself._

" _What's wrong, Molly?" the nurse asked, placing her hands on Molly's shoulders, the touch given so freely making Alex envious._

" _My mum doesn't love me anymore."_

 _A tear rolled down from Alex's eye, running a path down her cheek._

" _Oh, Molly, I'm sure that's not true."_

 _It isn't. I love you so much, so very much._

 _Molly shook her head, throwing the stem to the floor and curling up her hands into fists, hiding the scars that had already healed over._

" _She loves someone else now, and that's why she's staying..."_

 _Her daughter's voice faded into the distance, the room went black and then blindingly white, causing her to screw her eyes shut to block out the pain._

" _Bolly! Wake up, you daft tart."_

 _She blinked her eyes open for the second time, in a different room but still in hospital as far as she was aware and still unable to move._

" _Good, yer doin' as yer told for once. Thought I was gunna 'ave to slap you awake for a moment there."_

 _Gene? What are you doing here?_

 _God, she was confused. She expected her head to start pounding, as it was prone to do, but the pain had been transferred lower down her body._

" _Look, they're gunna say that it was my fault. That I shot you on purpose."_

 _Shot her? What the hell had happened..._

 _Without knowing precisely how, she registered the puckered wound in her abdomen. Her eyes blinked towards him, disbelieving._

" _It wasn't like that, Bols. You know I wouldn't..."_

 _He wore a shamed expression, bobbing his head to avoid her watery gaze. In one hand he held a bunch of flowers, clutching onto them awkwardly, as if he didn't know quite what to do._

" _You were goin' to walk out, and I couldn't let yer do it. I panicked. At least I knew that you'd be alright 'ere, that the docs would look after yer until you're strong enough to come back. Don't get too comfortable, mind."_

 _The flowers rustled in their wrapping as he thrust them forward into her eye line._

" _I dunno if these are the kind you like, but I thought you might want somethin' to look at other than their ugly mugs. Especially Ray's."_

 _He took one out of the bunch, a gloved hand closing around the smooth stem._

" _I'm not doin' that poncey game. I know that yer love me."_

 _Her heart contracted to hear him say the word that held such weight._

 _Gene. You have to understand. I can't stay forever._

" _I can't do this without yer, Alex. You've got to stay where you're needed. I need you."_

 _She wanted to tear her eyes away from him, standing faithfully by her bedside, but she couldn't._

 _Please, Gene. Don't make this harder than it already is._

" _And...Jesus, Alex, you know I'm crap at this." He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair before he brought it down to brush against hers. She felt a jolt of energy running through her, as if she had been shocked with electricity. His voice was barely louder than a faint whisper. "But you know I do too."_

 _She looked up at him, her eyes catching with his for a moment that both hurt and healed._

 _He put the flowers down on her bed, began to move away from her._

" _I'll go and find a nurse, get some water for those. See if she can get me a cuppa while she's at it."_

 _Gene, she called to him, another silent scream. I'm sorry._

 _He turned back, taking slow strides until he was standing over her._

" _Take care, Bollykecks. I know you won't let me down."_

 _He stared down at her, lowering his head until his lips made contact with her forehead._

She woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and feeling her heart pounding heavily against her chest. After a few moments held in the grip of fear – convinced that Summers was going to step out of the shadows – she turned her head towards the clock, seeing that it was just a little after 1am.

Groaning with frustration she dragged herself from beneath the covers, knowing that it wasn't likely that she'd go back to sleep any time soon. She needed something to make her feel drowsy – to numb the relentless pain. Her first instinct was to head to the fridge, pour some milk into a saucepan. Hot milk always did the trick when Molly was having a sleepless night, suffering from one of the nightmares she was prone to when she was a few years younger.

There was no milk there however, and she sighed as she stumbled across the kitchen, pulling open the cupboard to find the half-full bottle of whisky which was a reliable occupant, aside from the few assorted cans and packet of Cornflakes. She poured herself a measure, only one person on her mind as she let the warm liquid sink down. Screwing her eyes shut was the only way to stop the tears that had already started whilst she hadn't been fully aware.

It was useless. Whatever way she took from here, she was always going to be incomplete.

With a heavy heart and another swig of alcohol she supposed she had better get used to the feeling.

* * *

Alex stood in front of the whiteboard, staring aimlessly at the array of pictures that were pinned upon it. Johnston had more connections than she'd first realised and finding out who was at the heart of this operation was like pulling needles from the proverbial haystack.

Neither did it help that she'd only had snatches of sleep over the last couple of nights, not sure how much longer she could survive on black coffee. Her hand was trembling as she reached up to write something on the board and she sighed once she was done, her writing barely legible. Her head felt so heavy, she felt like she could slump down on the spot at any second.

"Bit of an issue, Ma'am," Viv approached her ruefully, "Johnston's getting himself into a state, banging on the door and asking when he can get out."

"When he starts giving some useful answers to our questions, that's when!" She pinched the bridge of her nose, shook some of the haziness out of her head. "Sorry, Viv. It's not your fault. Could you keep him sweet a little while longer?"

"I'll see what I can do, Ma'am."

She nodded appreciatively, leaning back against her desk and returning to the pointless task in hand.

 _Come on, Alex. Most of the pieces are there in front of you. You just have to fit them together._

Shaz arrived at her side, mug in hand. "Are you sure another coffee's a good idea?"

"Not particularly," Alex replied, "but I don't think it'll hurt that much either."

She took the fresh mug from Shaz, smiling weakly as she took a sip. Throwing herself into this current case was what she needed to do, but now she couldn't help but wonder whether there was more to it than met the eye. Everything was leading her back to the same point, her mind locked in that encounter. He was waiting around every corner, a rose in hand and a sickening smile upon his face.

"Shaz? Can I ask you a favour?"

She kept her voice low, the younger woman looking at her eagerly. Alex wondered whether it was the right thing to get her involved, but she told herself that her peace of mind would benefit everyone in the long run.

"Will you find out everything you can about a man called Martin Summers?"

"He a suspect, Ma'am?" She nudged her head towards the whiteboard.

"Erm, not exactly, no."

"A witness?"

"Er, not really," she began to falter, reading the uncertainty in Shaz's eyes. "I'm sorry to be vague, but it could be something really important to me."

The younger woman let out a little laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "A matter of life or death?"

"Yeah. Possibly."

Shaz quickly turned serious again. "Blimey. Um, is there anything else to go on?"

"He's a retired cop. About mid-fifties?"

"I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks, Shaz."

She felt some of the pressure lift, even if the majority was still pressing down upon her. Placing her hands in her back pockets she stood on her heels again, keen to get some new perspective. _Whatever plan Summers has got in mind, he's not going to win_.

"Right, Johnston is being what we would all refer to as 'a pain in the arse', so it seems like we need to go further afield." She directed CID's attention to the rogues gallery that was laid out before them. "I've started profiles on three of them, but I'm afraid it's going to have to be all hands on deck if we want to even think about getting out of here before the weekend."

"This is a load of bollocks," Ray exclaimed, arms folded against his chest. "I didn't join the force to play a large-scale game of _Guess Who._ Has he got glasses? No. Is he a scummy bastard? Yes. Problem solved. Now let's go and kick their heads in."

Alex sighed, leaning both hands on her desk.

"Oh yes, a full-on brawl and injured egos on both sides. That's exactly what we want. Look Ray, I know we're not used to singing from the same hymn sheet, but I am really trying here so it would be nice to have a bit of support."

DS Carling shook his head vehemently. "I didn't join up to be ordered around by a bird, neither. If I wanted that I would 'ave stayed at home with me mam and listened to her batty ramblings all day and night."

"Maybe you should have done just that," Shaz decided to step in, offering her support to Alex, "then we might have a DS who could actually do their job properly instead of sitting on their arse for most of the day, picking their nose."

"And you can keep your trap shut an' all," Ray shot back, "why don't you two go off and schedule your periods, it'd be of more use than all of this crap."

"That is so typical of you. Go and drag your knuckles back to your cave, you troglodyte."

"Better being a...one of those than a dippy cow."

"Eh, don't speak to my fiancée like that!" Chris leapt out of his seat, ready to defend Shaz's honour.

Ray stifled a laugh. " _Fiancée?_ Poof. Give it a rest."

Never mind the suspects; a mass fight was on the brink of breaking out in Fenchurch East CID, paper missiles being hurled into the air and both Ray and Chris rolling up their sleeves in preparation.

"The pair of you, stop it," Alex pleaded, her voice being lost amidst the braying jeers of the rest of the team. "My god, maybe the decision isn't so hard after all..."

The banging of the doors didn't put a stop to proceedings but the familiar bellow certainly did.

"Well, what a pleasant 'welcome home' this is," Gene glanced around at the scene before him, clearly displeased. "I've got a mind to stick you all in the cells, just so I can get a bit of soddin' peace!"

Across the room that had fallen silent his eyes sought her out and she could see him soften for a moment, equilibrium being gradually restored.

"Guv," Chris stepped back, adjusting his shirtsleeves into place again, "good to 'ave you back."

A chorus of murmured 'Guv''s went round, all of the men standing from their seats as Gene strode through the room.

"Cup of tea, Guv?" Shaz offered with a smile.

"I won't say no," Gene replied, " 'aven't had a decent one all week. Five sugars, Shaz, ta muchly."

As Shaz bounced towards the kitchenette he turned around, gracing Alex with the view of his broad shoulders, strong back and very fine arse in dark-grey trousers.

"Am I right in thinkin' you're the cause of this ruckus, Raymondo? And we know I'm 'ardly ever wrong, so no point in wormin' your way out of it, there's a good DS."

Ray frowned, arms folded tight to his chest again. "I've done nothin', Guv. And that's exactly the point." He turned his disgruntled gaze in Alex's direction. "We'd 'ave had this case nailed days ago if she..."

" _She?"_ Gene cut his DS off abruptly. "Who's that, the cat's mother? DI Drake is your superior officer and you will give her the respect she is owed, whether that is followin' her orders to the letter or by givin' her her correct title."

Ray dropped his head like a little boy admonished, and Alex had to try hard to stop herself from bursting into a fit of laughter, half-delirious.

"Sorry, Guv."

"I don't think it's me you need to apologise to."

DS Carling raised his gaze from the floor reluctantly, though he didn't quite deign to look her in the eyes.

"Sorry, _Ma'am_."

"Thank you, Ray," she answered, lacing her voice with sugary sweetness, knowing that it would rub Carling the wrong way.

"Right, now we're all friends again, you lot can get yer heads down and do some bloody work!"

Another round of 'yes, Guv''s went round as Gene headed without a glance over his shoulder for his office, the scent of his aftershave trailing behind him. Alex was rather deflated that he hadn't paid more attention to her, but she supposed they could always debrief later on.

She was just about to sit back down at her desk and resume working on the half-finished profile when her train of thought was interrupted by a bark from behind her.

"Lady Bols, a moment of your time."

She felt lighter as she turned, a smile sparking on her face as she headed behind the door.

"Blinds?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Your call, love."

She promptly shuttered the blinds and then barrelled herself into Gene's arms, feeling him stumble back as she nestled her head against his chest, letting out a happy and relieved sigh.

"Steady on, Bolly," he exclaimed, the stuffing knocked out of him somewhat. His arms circled around her all the same, hands rubbing against her back. "I was only on the M1, not in a rocket from the bloody moon."

She recovered herself, pulling back from him. To feel him against her, his warmth radiating through to her body, had been a tonic that she had so sorely needed.

"I know, I know. I just missed you."

His perplexed expression shifted into a smile, rare for everyone else to see but not for her, at least not in these past few months.

"Same 'ere. Yer a sight for very sore eyes, Bols." His eyes dipped up and down, checking her over thoroughly. One of his hands came around, cupping her cheek. "Look a bit peaky though."

"Pressures of being an acting DCI," she smirked, hoping she could put his mind at ease. "That, and I haven't been getting a lot of sleep."

A cheeky glint lit up his eyes. "Thought you'd be catchin' up on it, love, seein' as I wasn't there to keep yer otherwise occupied."

She smiled, unable to resist his charm. "Seems that I need you around for that as well."

Her hands landed back upon him, shifting up from his chest to stroke the warm skin at the back of his neck. He sighed at the ministrations of her fingers, shifting his feet where he stood. She didn't need to press herself into him to know the way in which he was reacting to her presence, and she felt gratified in the power of her feminine wiles, if she wasn't exactly sure of her other abilities at this moment in time.

With some reluctance he pulled her arms from where they were draped around his neck, stepping back slightly. Though she felt a touch disappointed she decided it probably was for the best, before they got too carried away.

"How was it, then?" she ventured, keen to know what he had been up to. "Any details you can share with me, or is it all classified and top-secret?"

He pouted, large frame slumping against his desk.

"It was a pile of steamin' shite, Bols. There was no bleedin' big case. No small one, either. They'd rounded us up on false pretences." The disappointment on his face was clear, and she could only imagine at the mood he would have been in all week. "Six solid days of bastard team-buildin' exercises. The Commissioner wants us to present a 'united front', apparently."

He let out a stutter of a laugh, shaking his head fiercely.

"Like that's gunna 'appen in the present climate. I tell yer, Bolly, there were many occasions when I felt like tellin' im exactly where he could shove his team-buildin'. I've got a perfectly good team of my own, I don't need to be pally with a bunch of Brummies and Scousers."

She smiled at his grimace. "I don't know, with the way things are here at the moment we could probably learn a thing or two. I draw the line at trust falls, though."

For a brief moment she pictured them both somewhere else, a lock-up garage with darkness surrounding them, her legs feeling weak as he reached out towards her, lifting the t-shirt she wore to expose her stomach.

 _"I'm sorry. Could 'ave hit my target, but you fell all wrong."_

 _"Sometimes in life you can't help which way you fall."_

"Waste of bloody time is what it was. And they didn't even have a free bar! What kind of copper get-together is that?"

To compensate he opened one of the drawers of his desk, plucking out a bottle of whisky and taking a swig.

"You don't think..." she began, watching him as he made short work of the bottle's contents.

"What?" He stared at her hard, then quickly relaxed. "Sorry, Bols, should 'ave offered you some first."

She waved her hand in dismissal. "What we were talking about before you went. It could have been an exercise in promotion. It's quite common in...well, where I come from."

"You mean boarding school and all that posh-knob bollocks? I've never been into willy-waving, Bolly. Just as well, for the rest of them."

"Alright," she raised her eyes to the ceiling, "you don't need to tell me."

He smirked, straightening up and fixing the lid back onto the bottle that was, for all intents and purposes, drained dry.

"I've told yer, Bols, I'm not interested. They want Superintendent Gene Hunt, they'll 'ave a long bloody wait. I've got bigger fish to fry in this hornet's nest."

She smiled. He did love to mix his metaphors.

"So, what 'ave I missed, then? Aside from Ray being a big girl's blouse."

"Oh, just this case. And the fact that I'd get better results by banging my head against a brick wall."

She sighed, raising her hands to her temples again. A small voice was telling her that she should tell him about Summers – that it was the right thing to do – but if she was honest she just wanted to forget, at least for the time being.

If anyone could make her forget about the torture that Summers was objecting her to, then it was Gene.

"Fill me in, then."

She went through everything, about Johnston and his endless strings of 'no comment', the fact that he was linked with at least three different gangs as far as they knew, making it nigh on impossible to narrow the search down. By the time she was finished she was even more exhausted than when she had begun.

"So," Gene concluded, " 'e's a slippery little scrote, is the long and short of it."

"I suppose it is."

He rested both hands upon her shoulders, causing her to raise her eyes to look into his.

"Don't worry, Bols, he'll crack in the end," he said, full of the confidence that she was lacking. "They always do. And if 'e doesn't then put me in a room with 'im for five minutes, and he'll soon be beggin' for mercy and his balls to stay attached to his body."

She managed a smile as he clapped her gently.

"You just keep on at 'im with the psychology lark, and I'll get this shower into gear."

He flashed her a grin before heading for the door, leaving her temporarily stunned.

"Gene?" she uttered as his cobalt gaze looked back at her.

"Yes, Bols?"

She wavered for a moment, trying not to think of how desperately she would miss him.

"That's exactly what it is."

He shrugged, one hand planted in his pocket. "I know, Bolly. I do sometimes pay attention when yer rabbitin' on."

* * *

They did make some progress with Johnston that day, largely down to Gene's methods of persuasion – even if she noticed that they were more restrained than usual, and wondered whether it was for her benefit.

"So much for the psychology lark," she murmured, leaning her elbow heavily on the table and taking a slow slug from her glass.

He shot a look that told her he would have no moping or undermining of her abilities.

"I wouldn't worry, Bols. Not down to you that Johnston's too much of a thicko to respond."

She blinked up at him, the smile fitting easier on her face than it had done over the last week.

When she first got here she was so driven by the need to change everything, failing to understand the whole 'act first, think later' approach. She'd since learned that everything was not so black and white and cringed to think how arrogant she must have seemed, harping on about her time at Langley and unconsciously trying to make herself seem superior. It had been a survival technique, proving to herself that she wouldn't become lost. Now she realised that there was a place for everything – in moderation, of course - and just as he was working on toning things down she would try hard to do the same.

Their differences were narrowing as the days went by, when once it seemed to be all that they were to each other. She viewed them now as complimentary elements, rather than ones which were designed to repel. _Yin and yang._ Looking over the small surface standing between them she decided that the topic of ancient Chinese philosophy wasn't one worth pursuing tonight.

"Y'know...I've been thinkin'." Alex watched his fingers and his lips as he took a final drag on the cigarillo he was smoking, at war with herself for finding the act so attractive when he employed it. "This Operation Rose. Maybe Mac _was_ onto somethin'. Workin' it from the inside."

She went cold all over, clutching onto the stem of her glass so tightly that it could well have shattered against her palm. The image of Molly from her most recent dream came back into her mind, thorns prickling at her perfect skin.

"I don't know," was her feeble reply, "we don't know what mental state he was in. You said it yourself, he died a bitter man. Maybe it was all a ruse, designed to lead us the wrong way."

The more assured she sounded, the better she could do at convincing him – and herself.

The weight of it lay heavy upon his shoulders as he contemplated the glass that was out of reach by mere inches.

"Strikes me that the timin' is all a bit convenient though, Bols. The higher powers don't give a toss about us, won't put their 'ands into their very deep pockets to organise a division piss-up every Christmas, and then all of a sudden they want us all to be best buddies?" He shook his head, nudging at the ashtray with his fingers. "Somethin' is very off."

"You think it's wider than the Met?"

"No doubt about it," he answered her, his voice low against the usual after-hours hubbub. "Bad bastards 'ave a habit of getting everywhere, gettin' other bastards on side to do their dirty work for them. Doesn't take much for an infection to spread, until there's nothin' that can be done to cure it."

She couldn't quite make out the voices coming through the radio wavelength, but she knew they were talking about her and her chances of survival.

"Mac wasn't soft, 'e had a lot goin' on." He raised one hand to his head, clenched the other into a ball upon the table-top. "I swear to God, if 'e's tainted my department with the corrupt bullshit 'e was up to his neck in..."

The air around them was toxic as she breathed it in, Gene's agitation amplifying her own. She wished that she had never had to assign such meaning to the two words and hoped – perhaps against all reasonable hope – that it was not, in fact, her route back to the world she had known.

Whatever part Summers had to play in the whole sorry affair, she would forget about him. For tonight, at least.

"Enough about work," she uttered softly but imploringly, her hand covering his fist on the table, easing it out of its rigid position. Her fingers were like waves of gentle water as they moved over his, out of sight of the rest of the team and any eyes other than their own, which was what would put him at ease.

That, and the persistent caress of her touch, aiming to transport him into another existence if only for a short while.

The radio had changed its station to something mellow, fitting the atmosphere she was hoping to create, and with the briefest glance to the next table she smiled as she knew exactly who the culprit was.

"Not callin' it a night, are we, Bolly?" His eyes looking into hers made the feelings she had been bottling up for her own sake surge and break free, a tsunami cleansing all of her senses. "That bottle's barely been touched."

She gave him a smile as she stood, relinquishing her grip on his hand in order to seize said bottle. "I don't intend to waste it. That's why I'm bringing you both upstairs."

His lips quirked in the next moment, so obvious that she knew that her eyes weren't deceiving her.

"What the lady wants, the lady shall 'ave. Not that I've got much say in the matter."

She laughed at his apparent grousing and paid little attention to the looks that followed them as they departed the trattoria. She didn't care what they had to say, gossiping about the two of them. They were off the clock, and the precious hours until the next sunrise were theirs and their alone – and God knows she had been counting down to these ones.

He made himself at home on the sofa – and thankfully not the armchair. Already she was going back on her promise to put the spectre out of her mind. She turned herself towards Gene, filling their glasses evenly and they got through the rest of the wine easily. He looked behind her in the direction of the kitchen once the bottle was finished but she didn't budge. She wanted to keep as clear a head as possible, didn't want to be so drunk that it became nothing more than a hazy memory in the morning.

His eyes went back to her, dropping briefly to the gaping at the front of her blouse. Such blatant attention was exactly what she craved.

"So, you missed me then, Bols?"

His hand was dangerously close to brushing against her thigh; she could feel the nerves in her skin prickling with anticipation.

"Very much so," she breathed, a hand threading into her hair, her own fingers teasing at the nape of her neck even though she wished that they were his instead, "I really don't know how I got by."

"S'only natural." His gaze was like a caress as it worked its way up to the curve of her collarbone. Infuriatingly, he still wasn't touching her. "I imagine yer must have enjoyed the power though. Gettin' to call the shots for a bit."

Her patience, which wasn't at the optimum to begin with, was wearing away to nothing. She leaned into his ear, placed a hand upon his chest.

"You know _exactly_ how I missed you."

The tip of her tongue darted from between her lips to tease at his lobe, and she felt the muscles in his jaw contracting.

"Would 'ave thought you'd be a bit more subtle about it though, Bolly."

"There's a time and a place, Gene."

She smiled against his skin, inhaling the musk of his scent as she dotted kisses over his jawline.

"I bought something while you were away. I think...I hope you'll enjoy it."

Just as he was about to put his hands upon her she ducked out of his reach, getting to her feet and leaving him sitting there. His frustration was signalled by a low growl in his throat and she suppressed a giggle.

"Won't be long," she trilled as she moved towards the bedroom, "don't get too comfortable."

"Not much chance of that, Bols."

She had to tell herself to slow down as she got out of the clothes she had been in all day. It was always worth it to wait just a little bit longer. For a few short moments she was naked apart from the eager smile she wore, and then the satin caressed and moulded itself to her curves, hugging her like a second skin. A few additional accompaniments and she was good to go. She debated cloaking herself in a robe for the extra element of surprise but decided against it, echoing her own words. _A time and a place_.

"Close your eyes," she uttered to him, taking elegant strides back into the front room.

"Bugger off."

"Have it your way, then."

She stood in front of where he was perched on the sofa, hands on her hips and her chest thrust forward, though she hardly needed to make it any more obvious.

"Jesus...Christ... _Alex."_

The hungry look in his eyes set her alight; made it entirely worth squeezing herself into the basque and the ridiculously skimpy knickers, the stockings, suspenders and stilettos, the whole caboodle.

"I'm going to take that as approval."

He stopped his mouth from hanging agape, swallowed as he raked his eyes over her, a few times for good measure.

"I dunno where you came from, Bols, but it's downright filthy. And I very much 'ope I can go there one day."

"Well, I'm here now."

She kept her gaze fixed with his, teasing and entrancing with mere eye contact. As charged as it was, it only brought satisfaction for a minute or so.

"You'll get a better view up close."

He rose out of his seat, her insides fizzing with anticipation as he stalked towards her. Her eyes dipped down, following the path of his fingers as he swept them over the curve of a breast, feeling the cool silkiness that was made warm by her body, working them down her side to where hip gave way to thigh. She let her breath catch for a moment before she recovered herself, keen not to surrender so soon.

She moved herself further in towards him, feeling his warm breath tickle her as he huffed.

"Did you think about me?" she asked, perfecting the illusion of innocence.

"Every bloody moment."

Both of his hands gripped at her hips, pulling her almost flush against him.

"I thought about you, too."

When wasn't there a time when he wasn't on her mind, affecting all of her reactions?

She felt his hardness prodding insistently at her hip and almost moaned at the sensation.

"And did you...take care of yourself?"

He failed to suppress a groan, his hands moving upwards again, treating himself to what had been denied.

"It was a miracle that I could stay put for more than five minutes."

She smiled at his answer, shedding him of his jacket and tracing her hands over his shoulders, weaving one into his thick mane of hair.

"I know that I had trouble," she murmured, massaging her fingers against his scalp, "but I managed on my own. I've learnt a few things from the best."

It was naughty of her but she couldn't stop her other hand from wandering down her body, reaching to the waistband of her knickers.

He stilled the curses falling from his lips watching her, his hand stopping hers after a moment or two, to their mutual delight.

"Well I'm back now," he uttered firmly, tenderness not completely hidden beneath his rough tone, "so you don't 'ave to manage any longer."

Her eyelids fluttered as her lips smiled, her hand clinging onto his neck, increasing their contact.

"Although if this is the kind of thing I can expect, I should go away more often."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she murmured, caressing his skin with the strokes of her fingertips, over and over.

"Dunno about me heart, but somethin' else is definitely growin'."

She giggled softly, rolling her hips against his and almost purred with the friction that was caused.

"You know, I didn't enjoy being in charge," she confessed, her hand slipping to grip onto his strong shoulder, "because you'll always be the Guv, and that's the way it should be. You'll always be _my_ Guv."

 _Whatever happens_.

She expected more fervent approval from him to her utterance but was better pleased by the way he chose, growling against her skin as he kissed and nipped at her neck, increasing in enthusiasm while his hands worked at the clasps that held up the skin-tight basque. In little to no time he was successful, his lips trailing a perfect path, causing her to become quickly lost and muttering his name both in desperate pleas and to convey her escalating pleasure.

After she uttered it for what seemed like the thousandth time that night, she paired it with two other words, clinging onto him in desperation and desire.

"Take me..."

* * *

She woke in the dead of night, peacefully and not wrenched headlong out of horrific dreams. Dreams that forced her to choose between the two people that meant the most to her. Of course, that was the fact of her reality and she hadn't needed any stranger sending her roses and leaving her sinister messages to affirm that. There was barely any respite between the sobering realisation, becoming clearer to her again after she had forgotten – so blissful in her ignorance as the hours and he wrapped her up – and the tightening of her stomach, reminding her with physical pain that she could not live this way forever, trapped by time and torn in two.

She waited for the stabbing in her gut to stop before she rolled onto her side, taking the presence of him in as he lay next to her, behind her. He'd got into the habit of spooning her after they made love – once or twice, or on the occasion when excess adrenaline had fuelled them both more than that – and though he'd complain about it when she brought it up she knew that it was something instinctive. He could deny it all he wanted, the fact remained true. He was always protecting her, watching out for her and righting her when she stumbled.

But he couldn't save her from everything. Nobody was there all of the time.

Her mind was made up, as it had been from the start, and she knew that he wouldn't blame her or berate her for it. _If only he knew what a wrench it had become._

She wouldn't let herself think of the future, not for now. Her head was filled with the night had passed, every sigh and cry of ecstasy – mainly hers – echoing against her ears. It had been everything that she had craved and so much more, her very soul calling to him, _to keep going, to never stop_. His mouth on her and then all of him, inside her, their bodies fitting together as though it was always meant to be that way. She'd never felt such intensity; it was almost like the first time, so much anticipation. Heaven so near in reach with every touch and kiss. There was a lot to be said for being reunited.

God, the thought would not leave her alone, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

She watched him sleeping, completely oblivious in the darkness and felt a certain serenity descend upon her, despite everything. They'd been here before, the night of the Police Ball when they'd absconded early from the celebrations. The night when she'd realised exactly how deep her feelings ran for him and could avoid them no longer.

He was so peaceful when he slept; nobody would have guessed at everything that lay beneath, all of the infuriating and wonderful complexities and contradictions. Sometimes it felt like nobody knew him, not really, and she was the only one that came close. No doubt he'd have something to say about that. _You and your bleedin' psychiatry._ She think she actually preferred it when he got it wrong.

Her fingers threw invisible shadows as they reached out, holding her breath so she didn't make a sound. She smiled weakly as her fingertips traced his eyelashes, bracing herself for him to wake up any second and ask her what the hell she was playing at. But he didn't, stayed on sleeping, chest rising and falling steadily and reliably.

Her throat was tight with tears that she refused to let fall, telling herself not to spoil this night, wherever it lay in the sequence.

 _I do love him_ , she admitted to herself once more. _I love him. And when I have to leave him...oh God, it's going to be hell._

She lay herself back down slowly, turned herself away from him but back into his arms. The image of Molly came into her head; this time she held a bunch of tulips in her hands, the smile wide upon her face as she watched her mother eagerly.

" _Mum," she exclaimed, the light around her brighter than any Alex had ever witnessed, "you're awake! I knew you'd wake up!"_

She couldn't stop herself from smiling, Molly's joyful face in front of her and Gene's arms wrapped around her, trying to perfect her balancing act for as long as possible.

" _I got these for you."_

" _They're beautiful. They're my favourites."_

 _Molly giggled happily, moving from the end of the bed to the side of it instead._

" _I missed you," she said, making Alex's heart ache, "did you miss me, Mum?"_

" _I did," she replied, "for every moment. Come here, let me hug you."_

 _As she wrapped her weak arms around her daughter, she tried not to think too much about the arms that were letting her go._

" _I'll miss you, Bols," his voice lingered in her ear, sitting beside Molly's giggles, "more than I think you'll ever know."_

* * *

 **A/N: Alex, Alex...my heart aches for her. But at least Gene's here again... (I'm trying to keep this fic T-rated so the sexy times won't be as descriptive, but I can't exactly deprive them)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Some of the dialogue in this chapter is from Series 2, Episode 5, so all credit to Julie Rutterford. The rest of it comes from my crazy mind.**

* * *

 _Chapter 4_

 _Here she was, and it felt at once wonderful and normal, overwhelming and surreal. Surreal that after so much time spent fighting against the tide and what surely should have been impossible after the injury she had incurred._

 _She was finally where she had longed to be._

 _The room was light – the whiteness comforting rather than stark. She could smell the sweet, honey-like scent of the yellow tulips that sat on the cabinet. Molly sat at her bedside, talking to her, reading to her, smiling constantly. The weakness was still in her body and had a hold on her but she could feel it relaxing its grip the more lucid she became, ebbing away to be replaced by gradually-building strength. She could move her hand, flexing her fingers and shifting them along the sheets to meet Molly's hand, which remained a constant._

 _Molly stopped reading halfway through a sentence and placed the book down next to the tulips, leaning down to where her mother lay. Her head rested against Alex's shoulder and perhaps the doctors would have warned her not to take so much pressure, not so soon, but she would have dismissed them absolutely. She wanted to put her arm around her daughter, itched to do so, but she didn't need it to hold her in place._

" _Were you scared, Mum?" Molly murmured, her body twisted a little awkwardly in the chair. She would have been better off lying next to her on the bed._

 _She curved her lips. "No. I was only ever scared that I might not get back to you, but I knew I'd never let that happen, so being scared just faded away. Like the breeze."_

 _There was no window to the outside in the room, but she could feel a light breeze brush against her, raising goosepimples on her arms._

" _You know that I'd never leave you, don't you?"_

 _She felt her daughter's head turn, nuzzle against her, as though she was the one assuaging the fear._

 _After a few moments silence, Molly answered._

" _I know. I was a bit scared though."_

" _And that's okay."_

 _The doctors and nurses hadn't told her how long it had been, since she had been shot and now. They wanted to tiptoe around her, ease her back into the world gently. It felt like it was still summer, as grey as the London definition of the season was._

 _She could sense that it hadn't quite disappeared for her daughter, the feelings of apprehension and suspension and the threat of loss, always looming and waiting in the corner of the room._

" _Trust me, Molls. You trust me, don't you?"_

 _She nodded her head and Alex could feel it against her skin and her bones. She would cast the promise deep; it was the very least that could be done when her precious girl had spent too long in the wilderness._

" _It's you and me, and that's how it's always going to be. Always."_

 _She bent her head as much as she could, fighting against the sting that pulsed at the back of her neck to plant the lightest of kisses on the top of her daughter's crown._

" _Just you and me."_

" _And Evan, too," Molly murmured._

" _And Evan too." She hadn't seen him since she had woken up, which was strange. Surely, he must have been there._

" _This is going to sound wrong."_

" _What? You can tell me anything."_

 _She wished she could have told anything to her mum, but that wasn't how things were. She was gone forever before she was old enough to realise how important it was._

" _Well, when I was little...I wanted you to get married to Evan."_

 _Alex laughed, wrinkling her nose slightly. "That does sound wrong." It was a hazy memory, one she could have sworn that she had dreamed instead, but it became clearer to her now. Molly being about five or six and taking to calling Evan 'Dad' for a few months, though he always swiftly corrected her._

 _She could feel her daughter's frown. "Now it would be weird. Really weird."_

" _I agree."_

 _She didn't give her a hug, but instead swiped her smaller hand against her cheek._

" _You and me," Molly repeated, a wide smile overtaking her face._

 _The nurse came into the room, intruding upon the reverie with an apology written upon her face._

" _Visiting time's over now."_

 _Molly huffed, her face falling in disappointment with a hidden shock of fear. "Can't I have five more minutes?"_

" _Your mum needs to rest, Molly."_

" _It's alright, Molls," Alex reassured her daughter, feeling now that the tangibility of touch would have made a difference, "I'm not going anywhere, am I? I'll see you tomorrow."_

" _See you tomorrow." She leant down, pressing a warm kiss against Alex's cheek before she was led out._

 _The room felt like it was another place when her daughter left; dark and narrow, the walls shifting and drawing closer, boxing her in._

" _Do you want anything?" the nurse asked her, her voice echoing._

" _Just the television," she answered. "I should probably know more about what's happening outside."_

 _The woman looked a little reluctant, but switched the screen on, leaving the news channel playing with the volume too low for her to hear, the visuals having to be enough._

 _It had been barely a minute when the picture began to flicker, changing to static and high-pitched noise that almost made her ears bleed. Then there were images of the city, Piccadilly Circus and traffic, then Gene's face filling the screen._

" _Alex...Bolly...Bolly!"_

" _I can hear you," she answered to the screen and the empty room, thinking that she must have been going crazy, "Gene...why are you here?"_

 _He looked less than impressed, lowering his head to stare straight towards her._

" _I need yer, Bolly. Need you back 'ere, with me."_

" _No...I'm sorry, Gene, but I can't. You know I can't."_

" _You stupid tart! Never do as yer bloody told."_

 _Well, being insulted wasn't going to help._

 _His expression shifted, the hardness that was in his eyes melting away._

" _Come on, Alex. You can bring 'er with you. I told yer that I'd take care of you both."_

 _Her eyes began to fill. "It's impossible. We're here...and you're there. Worlds apart. You must understand."_

 _He backed away so that she could see all of his imposing figure, clad in his overcoat._

" _You tell me then, what the soddin' hell am I s'posed to do?"_

" _I don't know..."_

 _His stare was steel once more, unforgiving._

" _I'm fightin' 'ere, Bolly. They're gunna pull the plug, and everything will 'ave been for nothin'. I need you. Need you to help..."_

 _Before she could respond the screen went back to its fuzzy static and its screaming sounds, blurring his image before there was enough time to commit it to her memory._

" _Gene," she heard herself crying out, "Gene...please...stay."_

* * *

Things really were getting strange now. Perhaps it was the final flourish, she considered. Summers hadn't even had anything to do with it, and she had been expecting him to pop up from somewhere throughout the whole investigation, pulling the strings and showing her how her two worlds were closer than she thought possible.

God, what had she _ever_ seen in Pete? That was a weird question to consider when she had been confronted with him as a fourteen year-old, she'd admit. He hadn't had much common sense even then, so at least she was assured in where most of the fault lay, but it didn't make her feel much better about herself. She was just as stupid and naive to have been taken in by his charm and the way he could talk himself out of any trouble. Still, that must have been a skill he acquired further down the line, given how hopeless he had been with Gaynor and the whole situation.

To hear his younger self utter their daughter's name had jolted herself out of her body, convinced for a moment that was going to be it. If he was at the hospital then she couldn't be held responsible for her actions, and was quite certain she'd make miraculous steps in recovering, doing what she could to punch his lights out.

"A cat! A bloody cat, of all things!" She grasped hold of the glass, the force with which she did so almost causing its contents to spill across the table-top. "And what is really tragic is that he showed that cat a damn sight more affection than his own flesh and blood. I should have known..."

She could see Gene from the corner of her eye, contemplating his pint glass, ignoring the others as they let off steam.

Alex knocked back the remainder of her wine almost in one go, wanting to erase not just the last few days but years' worth of regret and painful memories.

"Well, I'm not having it," she announced, near hiccoughing, "she's named after my great-grandmother. A suffragette. That means something. Not a bloody cat."

" 'ave you took a knock to the 'ead or somethin'? Because I 'aven't got the faintest bloody clue as to what you're on about. Although, sayin' that, it's probably the most normal thing that's happenin' around 'ere at the moment."

She turned her gaze towards him fully, seeing those brilliant blue eyes all at once blazing and worringly distant.

"Have you ever had a cat, Guv?"

He frowned at her, the look on his face close to sending her into a fit of giggles.

"No," was his simple response. He leaned back in his chair and reached for his glass, disappointment striking him when he saw that it held nothing other than froth sticking to the sides.

"You should get one," she said, a bit too loudly, "it'd be funny, seeing as you're the Manc Lion and all. It'd be like your little mascot."

"Not really into moggies," he muttered, casting his gaze to the side, "other than for catchin' mice and givin' somethin' to kick round the house when City lose, I can't see the point in 'em."

She scoffed. "No. No, maybe you're not the type after all."

No matter how hard she tried and how much wine she threw down her throat she couldn't get rid of the image of Pete, his hair too greasy with product and stinking of aftershave, cradling the little kitten in his arms.

" _Look after Molly. That's really important."_

Of course he thought she was referring to the defenceless animal, giving her a faint and confused smile before she left his bedroom. If she really couldn't make it back then he would need to step up, more than he ever had before. She couldn't leave Molly as she herself had been, without a mother _and_ a father.

"But, if you ever did, then I wouldn't be offended if you called it Bollykecks or Lady Bols. In fact, I'd be quite honoured, really."

She smiled at him, being completely serious in what she said. It'd be nice for a piece of her to be left behind, a legacy of sorts.

"Look, if you're gunna act like the Queen of Loopyland for the rest of the night then I might as well get me coat now."

She shook her head, reaching for his empty glass.

"No. Stay." Her other hand placed itself on his arm briefly, keeping him in place as his eyes looked into hers. She needed him to stay exactly where he was, to keep her sanity from disappearing completely. "I'll get the next round in."

He raised his eyebrows whilst keeping his expression otherwise unchanged. "Now yer talkin'."

She headed to the bar, ordering the same again. Before she was even aware another member of the team had sidled up, pulling the wallet free from his back pocket.

"Luigi, put that on my tab." He turned to address her. "I owe you one anyway."

She studied Ray closely, slightly bemused by the unexpected display of generosity. "What for?"

"For not sayin' anythin' to the Guv about me goin' AWOL."

He shuffled on his feet, itching the side of his nose. She had the fairly certain idea this hadn't happened many times before.

"Alright. I accept." She paused for a moment, uncertain of whether she should say anything further. It would feel like a betrayal of trust to admit anything, and that was the last thing they needed with everything as it was at the moment. But then again she wasn't going to be here much longer, and she couldn't bear for Gene to be further deserted. "On one condition."

"What?" She could see his suspicions arising.

"Stay."

He looked away from her, and she knew that she didn't have to say anything further. It felt like an itch, scratching away at her.

"I saw you filling in the form." The guilt on his face made him resemble a schoolboy who'd been caught kicking a football clean through a window, but at least he wasn't scarpering in the face of confrontation. "You posted it?"

"Not yet. I need a referee."

She didn't expect him to produce the very form in front of her eyes, but also wasn't entirely surprised that he'd been carrying it around with him like a constant burden.

"Will I do?"

He looked at her again, caught off-guard somewhat but also seeming resigned. "I guess so."

She slid the piece of paper along the bar, being careful not to mark it, feeling Ray's eyes keen upon her. Once it was in her hands, her movements were far more swift as she ripped it into eighths.

"There," she announced, passing the scraps back into his hands, "now you have to stay."

He didn't appear crestfallen by her actions; she thought she even spotted relief lying in his gaze.

"Haven't got much bloody choice, 'ave I?" He pretended to be put out for a bit longer and then his expression moved into something that could have been classified as a smile. "You're not such a bad copper, you know."

A feather could have knocked her from where she was standing. "Thanks, Ray."

"For a bird," he added, just so that she was sure. Still, it was high praise coming from him, and she could feel herself glowing as he left, heading back to the table seating Chris, Shaz and Viv.

She looked up to the entrance of the trattoria, exhaling a long breath when moments passed and nobody appeared.

Gene's approving glance towards her was the thanks she received, along with his gasp of delight as he took the first sip from his fresh pint.

"George Staines. The collar that could have saved us all," she said after she had resumed her seat, "your name really would have been legend."

"Don't rub it in, Bols," he groused, taking a larger gulp from the glass.

"There's still time."

He lowered the pint, looked at her with a searching gaze. If he was trying to ascertain whether she thought he really was fitting of the title then he didn't need to stare so hard.

"What, and break his mum's heart? It's not 'er fault she loves him. Or that she popped out an Arthur and ended up with a Martha."

Alex shook her head. "And that's not _his_ fault, either. But neither is it an excuse."

"I could 'ave retired on it," he mused, visions of glory fading fast in front of his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh that reverberated to her soul. "But there's plenty more scumbags to be collared. I've got a fair few years left yet, Bols. Poor Elsie hasn't."

She smiled. It wasn't too difficult to locate Gene's soft spot, not if you knew where to look for it.

"What did you tell her?"

He took another swig, wiping his mouth once he'd put the glass down on the table, near to being finished already. "Gaynor Mason's been arrested for the robbery."

"Of course you did. Which is why George Staines never gets sent down." _Bingo._ After the whole Pete fiasco, now she felt much better about herself. "Damn you, Gene Hunt."

He pouted towards her as his gaze lifted back upwards. "Why? What 'ave I done now?"

He really couldn't see it, which meant she had little choice other than to point out the obvious.

"Because despite all the macho put-downs, the insults, the pathetic side-swipes...underneath it all, you're a good, kind, decent man."

Her voice had started to crack, and she took a sip of wine so that he might not notice, although she expected it was probably too late given the way he was looking at her.

"Keep your voice down, somebody might 'ear."

She smiled and then looked over to the other tables that seated their colleagues, her eyes drawn to one amongst the party in particular before they directed themselves back to Gene again.

"And it's precisely because of those qualities that I think you should take Ray out."

He looked as aghast as he would have done if she had asked him to escort Elsie on a date.

"I didn't know bein' good an' kind an' decent equated to bein' a poof. Otherwise I'm gunna be nothin' other than a hard bastard from here on out."

"You must have noticed," she continued, "your head's not _that_ far up your arse."

"Oh, charmin'. You give with one 'and, and then smack me round the gob with the other."

As the others laughed and shouted Ray sat there with his pint, smiling weakly and not contributing.

"He feels left out, Gene." She hadn't thought she would have to spell it out. "Chris has Shaz, we have each other."

"Yeah, well it's not down to me that 'e can't get a bird. Said it before, Bolly, you've either got it or you 'aven't. Raymondo just 'appens to fall into the latter category."

"It's more than that," she continued, not wanting to bring up what had been within a hair's breadth of happening. "He's losing his sense of purpose. He's seen one of his heroes fall from grace with an almighty thud. He needs support from his other. His number one, his ultimate."

A little massaging of his ego wouldn't hurt.

"We all need to know that we're doing a good job from time to time, to hear it direct." She smiled as she could see the argument sinking in. "I think it'd be a tonic for him, and for you too. I can tell you, there's nothing 'poofy' in a boys' night out, not where I'm from."

She leant over the table, 'accidentally' loosening a couple of buttons on her blouse.

"I'll buy you another very large drink," she added, and along with her flash of cleavage it was enough to sweeten the deal.

"Alright then, if it'll stop you from mitherin'," he finally acquiesced. "You'll just 'ave to promise not to be bothered when you find out there's strippers involved. I mean, if you really want to be assured that we're not a load of shirt-lifters after all."

She feigned annoyance, not for long before a smirk lifted her lips.

"Oh that's not a problem," she retorted, "so long as you keep to the rules. You can look..."

She got to her feet, moving nearer to him and giving him the tantalising opportunity to reach out and slip his hand into where her blouse gaped, backing away on her heels the second he was about to take advantage.

"...but you can't touch."

* * *

He was like a coiled spring all morning, coming out of his office for all of two minutes at regular intervals and then disappearing back inside for far longer. It struck her that he was getting himself more worked up than if he was going to ask her to accompany him for an impromptu 'inventory' of the stationery cupboard, and she bit back the smile that threatened to show too obviously on her lips.

Just before lunch and like a whirlwind he emerged, striding over to Ray's desk and uttering a few words, short and to the point. _Pub crawl. Men only. Like the old days_ , before they had to deal with all the Southern nancies. DS Carling was left near speechless but signalled his approval with a nod of his head and a 'cheers, Guv.' With a nod and a grunt of his own Gene clapped a swift hand against Ray's shoulder and headed back to the safety of his den, avoiding the eyes of everyone else in CID.

" _Very sweet,"_ she ventured as he passed her desk, a twinkle sparking in her eyes evidence of the smile she was keeping otherwise hidden.

His voice emerged in a gruff whisper, his breath hot on the back of her neck. _"One more word, Bolly, and you'll be hangin' from the telephone pole by yer knicker elastic."_

She wanted to ask if that was a promise, but thought she had better leave it.

Luigi's was quiet that night, with Viv heading home early and the other natives not keen to stick around without their Guv in attendance. Alex and Shaz propped up the bar, making their way through some of the more exotic drinks on the menu, giggling and chatting about work and what Gene would no doubt call 'girly nonsense'.

"What d'you think they're up to now?" Shaz asked, swirling her fluorescent straw with its miniature paper umbrella and scrap of bright pink tinsel attached around her glass.

Alex half-waved a hand in dismissal, her vision starting to go hazy at the edges. "We shouldn't be talking about them, or even thinking about them. I bet they're not thinking about us. Probably too busy watching some scantily-clad," – she waggled her fingers in the air – " 'exotic dancer' wave her nipple tassels in concentric circles."

Shaz giggled hysterically at the image that had been conjured, resting both arms on the bar to stop herself from toppling off her stool.

"You know, I don't think Chris is that bothered. I told him that he could have a stripper at his stag do, but he said he didn't want one." A sentimental smile washed over the younger woman's face. "He said that he'd rather wait for our wedding night instead. Isn't that sweet?"

"Hmmm," Alex muttered, "as long as he doesn't pick anything strange or perversely kinky for you to wear."

Shaz pondered for a moment before shrugging. "Oh, I don't reckon I'd mind whatever it was. My sister's husband had a thing for nuns, so she got an outfit and said I could borrow it if I wanted."

The pair of them shared a look and then laughed so loudly that they just about startled a poor defenceless passing Luigi, who hastily scurried off to the back of the kitchens within a second.

"He's always been really shy though," Shaz went on once calm had been restored again, "but that's what makes him special. It took him three months to say more than a few words to me, and six months to ask me out to the pictures."

"Really?" Alex asked. "I'm surprised that nobody else came along to sweep you off your feet in the meantime."

"Well, it's not exactly like being spoilt for choice, is it, Ma'am? I thought it was really cute. Shows that he really respects me." She pulled a sudden face, as though experiencing a sharp aftertaste from the cocktails they had been sampling. "Not like Ray, who was commenting on my 'puppies' within the first five minutes of meeting me."

"Ah, yes. Poor DS Carling, his techniques leave a lot to be desired. Still, they say that there's someone for everyone...I just can't help feeling a little bit sorry for the woman in question."

They sat in contemplative silence for a few moments, Alex staring down into her glass until she felt a gentle push against her arm. She looked back up to find Shaz with a coy smile upon her face.

"And d'you think the Guv is your someone?" The smile grew wider before fizzling out when Alex took a while to respond. "Sorry, Ma'am, I don't mean to pry or anything..."

"No, no, you're not," Alex offered her reassurance, unable to stop her own smile from appearing as she thought about Gene – not that he hadn't been too far from her mind all evening. "I...well, there's a lot to think about." _That was something of an understatement_. "We do get on very well, when we're putting our differences of opinion to the wayside."

"I think that's underplaying it, Ma'am," Shaz smirked, her eyes lighting with her own opinions on the matter, ones which she could barely keep concealed. "You're so good together. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that."

Alex felt herself heating up underneath her younger colleague's intent scrutiny, her hand tangled into her hair. She knew that sooner rather than later – much sooner than she had really bargained on – she would have to break things off with Gene, despite her own wishes. _You can't live in both forever_. When it came down to it it would be a private affair; she couldn't think of many worse things than humiliating him in front of the whole team, even if he would end up goading her into the biggest slanging match they'd ever had so that he could save some face.

"It's not like it is with you and Chris," she stuttered out, realising she had been silent for too long, "I have baggage."

"So does the Guv." _What was she thinking – that really was a terrible excuse._ She turned to Shaz's face, seeing that it was soft and empathetic. "Look, maybe I shouldn't be saying this...it's a good job he's not around to hear me."

Against her better instincts Alex leaned in on her chair, feeling a bit like she was back at high school.

"Chris told me that the Guv was different in Manchester. I don't know how exactly, I suppose just the way he was; livelier, not as grumpy."

"I don't know if I believe that," Alex commented, offering a small smile.

"Chris reckons that when Sam Tyler died, everything changed. Something happened to the Guv, like a light went out or something. They were more like brothers in the end, Chris said, not that the Guv would ever admit it."

Sam Tyler. The revelation was hardly an earth-shattering one, but it still hit her with unexpected force. He'd been brought within inches of despair before, not even that long ago, and she was going to inflict it upon him once more. What would he do this time – relocate the team hundreds of miles away again? Perhaps he wouldn't make them all face it and instead would remove himself. She knew that isolation would be no good for him; he thrived when he was at the head of a team, leading the charge. He was there when he was needed, but in particular he _needed_ to be needed.

Shaz's smile deepened once more, radiating from her dark pupils. "Since you've been together the old Guv has started to come back, or so Chris thinks. I mean, people change, it'll never be exactly as it was before. But you've done something to him, Ma'am. Something really good. And I know that sometimes it takes other people to notice, so I thought I'd let you know. In case you were having doubts or something."

There was an ache in her cheeks rather than just the heavy, unpleasant one sitting in the centre of her chest, her eyes shimmering as she let Shaz's confession sink in.

She'd never really considered it up until now, but perhaps he needed her just as much as she needed him.

The night wore on, and poor Luigi needed his sleep before another day dawned. Alex called a taxi for Shaz and saw her safely to it, thanking her for an evening well-spent, and then headed to the flat, looking forward to an earlier night than she'd usually get but mourning the absence of Gene. She didn't want to think about the state he'd be in by now, though she couldn't begrudge him – not when it had been her idea in the first place, and not after all he had to deal with in the past couple of months.

She turned the light on, squinting slightly at its unexpected brightness. Sinking onto the sofa, she pulled off her boots, audibly sighing relief at the freeing feeling of being rid of them after so many hours. She closed her eyes, breathing in the peaceful silence; she couldn't remember the last minute in the day that had been completely quiet.

The shrill ringing of the bright red telephone swiftly shattered that hush.

She didn't speak on picking up the receiver, and was met with a slow but incessant _tick tock tick tock_ sound, sickeningly familiar to her ears.

Getting the point, she was about to slam the phone back down when the voice on the other end finally made itself known.

"Time's ticking on, Alex. I've heard a bit of bad news, I'm afraid; that you've taken a turn for the worse. You can't delay things much longer, assuming that you've made your choice."

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes against the sound that felt as though it was burrowing its way into her brain.

"I have." Molly's beaming smile and open arms were vivid in her mind, and she enlarged them to the point where they might have the chance of blotting out the vision of Gene, looking lost and though he was beyond all hope.

"Very good," Summers responded, "now you know what will come next. Or perhaps not, but I can fill you in on everything soon enough. Tomorrow, in fact. Let's meet somewhere neutral. _The White Knight_ , Old Compton Street, 7.30."

The symbolism wasn't quite lost on her but the only thing she could think of was Gene. Everything he had suffered, all of the disappointments and the good faith he had placed in others destroyed.

"I know you could be my only chance of getting back," she answered, her voice low and steady, "and you know how much I miss my daughter, I would do anything to see her again. But what you want me to do, what you want me to be is corrupt and dishonest. I'm sorry, but I simply can't."

She knew that she would have to leave, to be another in a long line of crushing blows to Gene. At least if she did so on her own terms she could help to soften it and not sour his final memories of her to the point of no redemption. She would hate for him to not only forget her but to purposely erase her from his history, whatever the full extent of it was.

"And so the answer is thanks, but no thanks. I don't know how, but I'll find my own way back."

The line went quiet aside from Summers' low breathing. Once again she moved to hang up, stopped seconds too soon in her tracks.

"I had a feeling you were going to say something like that," he replied. "Hmm. Oh well, if I can't change your mind, maybe Operation Rose will."

* * *

It looked nothing like Luigi's in here and tonight she was grateful for it. The dark amber light and wood panelling that started more than halfway down the walls, the worn velvet seating that she was perched on, made the place ageless, timeless. If she could immerse herself a little deeper she could have no trouble believing it was 2008 and the clothes she was wearing could be explained as fancy dress, one unbelievably long night nearing daybreak at a snail's pace.

But she didn't have a habit of frequenting slightly murky-looking pubs in 2008, not even more sophisticated wine bars in particular, and she couldn't see further past the nearest thought at the forefront of her mind. So she drank. One glass, then another, then another until she was half-convinced that the bottle was bottomless.

Men were men in every dimension of time, especially men who were nothing more than strangers.

"Are you alone?"

It took her a few seconds to look up at the intruder, a pint held in his hand, his hair scruffy but in a way that was supposed to be trendy. He didn't look much like he belonged in the '80s, either.

"I'm waiting for someone," she lied, the tactic one she employed instinctively. She hadn't forgotten _that_ much from all her years of socialising only when she forced herself to so as to not become a complete hermit.

He remained unmoving, perhaps even came fractionally closer to the edge of the table. "Can I wait with you?"

His shadow was outdone and he moved to the side, making way for Gene as he strode up out of the darkness. With the light thrown upon his face she noticed that the bloke chancing his arm in a horribly creepy fashion couldn't have been more than twenty five.

"No, you can't," Gene barked, leaving the stranger with no uncertainty, " 'op it, sunshine."

Without so much as a glance back Mr Scruffy Hair was absorbed by the void, and Alex let out a huff that she didn't think was audible. Gene took the stool opposite her, a softer light edging his frame. He must have a sixth sense. Not that she believed in the spiritual or supernatural but she couldn't come up with any other way of explaining it. _Always there_ , sensing whenever she was in danger. She tried not to dwell on what it meant that he was never around when Summers was in the vicinity.

"What d'you expect?" she heard him say through the fuzziness blocking her ears. _Was he seriously laying the blame upon her?_ "You look out of place, Bols."

She expected him to finish his statement with some colourful or perhaps even complimenting metaphor but she was left wanting.

"I fancied a change of scenery."

"Didn't tell me about it."

God, she was not in the mood for this kind of back-and-forth, catering to his whims and patching up his bruised pride.

"You don't own me, Guv."

His lips twitched at her deliberate choice of address. Maybe this was good; the distance would help.

He ignored his extra sense, leaning both arms on the table and drawing closer, his eyes examining her. She wanted to disregard him, request to be left in the morose peace she had forged before he barged in, but the thudding of her heart brought on by his proximity and his concern for her could not be so readily pushed to the side.

"I'm not complainin'. You an' all your frilly poshness in a common-as-muck boozer? It's...what do they call it."

She looked up into his eyes, familiar warmth spreading through her chest and heading further south.

"A contradiction-in-terms?"

He gave the smallest shake of his head. "Was thinkin' more of a dream come true."

She smiled, despite herself, feeling her cheeks flush and tearing herself away from his gaze for some moments of respite. They gave her cause to sober, in the figurative sense at least, and it was a long while before he broke the silence.

"Don't give me the unenviable task of try'na psycho-analyse you, Bolly." She glanced up again, impressed at his turn of phrase. "We both know I'd only balls it up. Not that it wouldn't give you a good chuckle at my expense. Lookin' at yer, I think that might be exactly what you need. That, or somethin' else I know I can do much better with."

This time she struggled with her outward appearance at his insinuations, the turmoil of her mind winning over. Her eyes narrowed and she reached blindly for the glass, her stomach lurching before the wine trickled down her throat, washing down the lump of sorrow that had gathered precisely there.

She felt his eyes heavy upon her; she had to give him some kind of explanation, though one was barely formed in her tumultuous thoughts.

"I've had a letter," she began, thinking misguidedly that it was easier to fib about, somehow not realising that he might ask to see the physical evidence for himself, "from Molly's father."

The image of Pete had been an easy one to grab, given his unexpected appearance a few days previous.

"I shouldn't get my hopes up, but there's...well, there's a chance that I could get to see her again, soon."

"That's good, in't it?" He responded far more enthusiastically than she had been on giving him the news, brimming up with joy on her behalf. "Reason to celebrate if there ever was one. Should get a bottle of Bolly for yer, Bols."

Her smile was watered down, reflected in the blue of his eyes as the realisation sunk in.

"Ah," he uttered, leaning back against the air, his arm prone upon the table. "I see."

Guilt consumed her swiftly, watching the restrained expression take shape upon his features. She should tell him the truth, if it didn't sound so utterly absurd. If she was going back then she supposed it didn't matter. But she would rather let him down gently than have him think she was insane or a pathological liar, because he would, even if they had got so much closer. What reasonable person wouldn't?

He hit his open palm against the table-top after a few moments contemplation, but she didn't flinch.

"Well, we 'ad a good run. Weren't bad at all, Bollykecks, not by any stretch."

For a minute or two she wasn't sure whether he was simply trying to make her feel better or if his feelings didn't run as deep for her as she had imagined. There were others before her and there would be others to follow. _Way of the world_ , he'd put it down to, yet she couldn't help feeling resentment mixed in with her sorrow and unease. His mellow acceptance was a far cry from the past version of himself who saw it as his unquestionable right to govern her every move, as well as the version of himself who was a near-constant presence in her dreams, begging with her to _stay_ , unable to let her go.

He didn't ask for much information, which she was glad of. It hadn't been that long ago that she had told him Molly's name; she wondered now whether she should have done that at all, whether it was a step too far, but it meant something to her, entrusting him with such a significant detail. If he couldn't know the whole truth about her at least she could give him that. All he needed to know was that she would be going back soon. Not tomorrow or the day after. _Soon_ was all she could give him, in the absence of really knowing herself.

She didn't want to think about the exact moment she would have to leave him, wondering what on earth she could possibly say. The look that burned quietly in his eyes – something that a few months ago he would have tried fiercely to hide – spoke volumes, extinguishing her previous doubts and leaving her heart shattered.

"Gene," she spoke his name softly, reverently, with the honour that he deserved, "if there was a possibility..."

"I know, Bols," he hushed her with a peculiar mix of empathy and understanding along with a dismissal, covering up the defencelessness that only she could see. "You said it yerself, it wasn't gunna last forever. The Gene-Genie knows what 'e's gettin' into, at any time."

If only she would have been so sure about herself.

"Any'ow, on the bright side it means I won't 'ave to listen to you bangin' on about goin' home every hour of the bloody day," he added, squaring his shoulders, "every cloud."

"I can only imagine your relief," she said, her smile a little more genuine.

He pursed his lips in that way that was so particular to him, pushing his outstretched arm towards hers without touching her. "If it means you'll be happy, then I dunno 'ow I can moan about it."

It might not have been how anyone else would say it but it showed without question that he did care about her after all. She couldn't help thinking of the old adage, _if you love someone set them free._

 _Damn you, Gene Hunt. Damn you so much._

"'e gets to keep the cat, then?"

She was thrown off-guard but quickly recovered, smirking more to the fact that he really had paid attention.

"Yes. I think it's a fair exchange."

"You 'ad a lucky escape, Bolly. Two things a man should never own; a cat and a sex guide."

The laugh sounded foreign as it rose from her throat. "If he would have had the second then perhaps I would have got a little bit more out of our marriage."

"I doubt it. I'm gunna be selfish and say that I'm glad 'e didn't 'ave a clue what 'e was doin. Made my job a whole lot easier."

For once he was being rather modest. She fought to keep the images from her mind but it was of no use. She didn't even have to close her eyes to envision him over her, his hands mapping her and his lips pressed against the slope of her neck. It was too painful to think of what Summers had said. Marriage, a child of their own. Even if it could have been, who was to say that he would have wanted that?

He shifted upon the stool, his intense gaze shaking her out of the daydreams of a life that would never be.

"As nice as the atmosphere is in 'ere, I reckon we should make tracks and make the best of things while we can."

She could hear the desire clear in his voice and felt racked with guilt that she would have to turn him down. Covering her hand over his upon the table she pushed it away gently, leaning back onto the padding behind her.

"I think I need to be alone for a few nights." She hoped her rebuffal didn't sound too hollow. "Just to let it sink in."

He put on a brave face, looking away from her. She was doing the wrong thing, again, but she couldn't seem to stop herself, repeating the refrain that _it was for the best_ whilst she completely disbelieved it.

The bar was calling them, the familiar and all too easy route to drown the sorrows they both held. To her surprise Gene avoided it, getting to his feet and looking down upon her once he had put his overcoat back on.

"At least let me see you back," he said, sounding gruff and shy and only half sure of himself, "some dodgy lookin' buggers round 'ere, Bols. Not havin' them take their chances, not when I can knock a few of them down."

She smiled a little as she rose, watching as he stood to the side, guarding her from the rest of the punters, none of whom moved from their respective spots.

"I don't know if there's any need for that."

He pouted at what she had said. "Maybe not, but it'll make me feel bloody good."

* * *

It was five when she gave up on sleep completely, fitful dreams of Gene whirling in her head. Dreams which were almost perfect mirror images of her recent reality. It would not be that long before the dreams were all she had to remember him by and that was what caused her to stumble out of them.

She looked longingly at the empty space to the left of her, cursing herself for not taking him up on his offer. The yearning was a powerful one, clawing at her soul, but she told herself to be strong. She had faced worse; she had been torn from her own time and from her child without so much as a reassurance that she would be back as soon as she could.

Molly would be her reward. That was all she needed to think about.

She'd never forget him. She almost laughed at the notion; _how could you possibly forget someone like Gene Hunt?_

She rose from the bed after some minutes had passed, opening a drawer and pulling out a pen and notepad. The impulse and idea had struck her from apparently nowhere, until she thought about the lie she had told earlier that very same night. She searched elsewhere for the envelopes, finding just enough to go round for the most important.

Lying back against her pillows she began to write, finding herself smiling down at the pages at intervals and pausing in other places, wondering whether she really should be so brutally honest but then continuing on.

Viv, Shaz, Chris, Ray. Each letter was sealed safe within its envelope and she had no regrets about their contents.

She sighed heavily as she put the pen to the blank sheet before her. This one would be the hardest to write and for a long while, aside from writing his name – _Gene_ instead of _Guv_ , although she wanted to put the more official title in brackets – she simply didn't know where to begin. She had so much to say to him, and visions of him scrunching up the letter unread didn't help matters.

Once she decided everything else came easy, at least for the most part. Her hand ached where she pressed it fervently against the pad, and she had to restrain herself else she would have wrote reams, which he most definitely wouldn't bother reading all of. By the end of it the tears were streaming her cheeks and she was careful to hold the pages away from her lest they become blotted. She had poured her heart out, in a way that she couldn't recall doing before.

It struck her that it still didn't feel like enough, not with everything that had passed between them. She looked at the sealed envelope, not having another to hand, her fingers tracing over the curves of her handwriting of the single word on the front.

Placing it underneath the others at her bedside she went over to the one drawer she hadn't opened for a while – a month at least, if not more – holding herself back for a few seconds before she could deny the urge no longer.

With a shuddering breath she plucked out the recorder, picking out a random tape – she had no blank ones left – to continue saying all that she needed to say.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: A largely canon compliant chapter, with a few Galex-y tweaks (and Summers being...Summers). Credit to Jack Lothian for the 2.6 dialogue.**

* * *

 _Chapter 5_

"Is it a biological necessity for women to change their minds every five minutes, or am I just unlucky with the women I meet?" The Manc Lion groused from his spot at the head of the table, his gaze directed firmly at her. "I say it's Riley, you suspect Donna. Turns out we're both right. I am agreein' with you. You should be doin' hula-hoops."

Alex picked up her glass, her hackles rising at his assertions of how she _should_ be reacting. "Yes, and I am not agreeing with me anymore."

He frowned for a second before leaning heavily against the back of his chair, arms folding against his chest. "Well, that there is a woman."

"I hear you, Guv," Chris spoke to back up his superior, causing both Alex and Shaz to shoot him disapproving looks, the latter tutting loudly as well.

"Like you know anything about it."

Alex turned her gaze away from the bickering lovers, looking instead at the man who had become her own, though at this precise moment she was having trouble figuring out why it had ended up that way.

"You won't have to worry about it for much longer, not when I've gone away."

The words had slipped from her mouth without her being fully aware, except now she could feel several sets of eyes upon her, silently questioning.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Shaz saw fit to puncture.

"Away, Ma'am?"

"Yes," she answered simply, feeling guilty that it had come out like that. She had intended to give a little speech on another night, and not one when most of them were in foul moods. "It's something I've wanted and it's...erm...it's good. DCI Hunt is already aware."

She made a point of not looking at him to check his expression, surprised that he didn't see fit to make some tired comment along the lines of _about bleedin' time_. She must have _really_ pissed him off over Riley and Donna.

The letters that were on her person came into her consciousness again, and despite it not being the best of times she didn't see the point in delaying. She was expecting to get some flack for them – namely from Gene himself – but God knows she had faced far worse than a bit of name-calling and shit-flinging. _Let him do his worst._ She was glad that she'd decided to leave the tape in the drawer of her desk, intending to give it to him when she was as certain as she could be that it really was the end.

"So, I've written you all something," she dished the envelopes out one by one across the table, leaving Gene's on the table-top when he failed to extend his hand, "Just, you know, just a little something. Just some observations, bit of advice. Just in case I don't get to say goodbye properly."

Her voice wavered slightly on the word _goodbye_ , the enormity of it all sinking in. For better or worse this place had been her home for going on the best part of eighteen months; this rag-tag bunch of individuals had become friends rather than simply just colleagues. They had been all she had, beacons of hope while she had been desperately trying to make sense of everything.

One had burned brighter and more fiercely than the others.

"Oh, great," Ray snarled, his thumb ripping into one of the corners of his envelope, the tearing sound sharp upon the air.

"But only if I go," she cut in, not realising she had said _if_ instead of _when_. "Please. It's important to me."

On her command each of the recipients stilled their trigger-happy fingers, depositing their respective envelopes in their jackets, trouser pockets or handbag. She smiled with a degree of serenity, the poignant feeling that had stabbed at her being replaced with something more soothing.

"Right, come on, you lot. Busy day tomorrow."

The team began to disperse at their Guv's orders, Viv collecting the drained glasses that lay upon the table, Ray leaving swiftly, Shaz putting on her coat and shrugging off a forlorn-looking Chris who quickly slinked away, his offer to help firmly rejected.

"Night, Ma'am," Shaz's voice was as bright as ever, no mean feat considering the evening that had passed.

She gave a genuine smile up from her seat. "Night, Shaz."

"And that applies to you an' all," Gene's voice shook her from her contemplation after a few moments, his figure looming over her holding her in suspension and having quite the opposite effect to the drive of his words, "don't want a repeat performance of you holdin' court with the floor again, not when there's serious business to be done."

Her lips curved to one side, the look on his face curiously unreadable. _Sod it_ , she didn't have the inclination to even try.

"Oh, there won't be any trouble of that, Guv," she said, adding extra verve to her tone, "I've never felt better."

He pouted at her as she raised her glass up towards him, and then set his expression to stone. "Glad to 'ear it."

"So am I."

"Good."

They remained in the stale-mate for a couple of minutes longer, staring one another out. Alex felt reasonably smug that she had the upper hand. She knew that she was right about Donna and Riley, and the sooner he got over his sulking the better. Then she could focus on what really mattered.

He turned to leave without so much as a _goodnight_ , the air feeling colder once he had disappeared. She hunched her shoulders up, sat straighter in her seat and watched the small, flickering flame of the candle in front of her sway to-and-fro.

The bullet was out. _This is it – the beginning of the end._ Or perhaps the end of something that had barely begun.

Whatever way, she would be going soon. Hours as opposed to days. Even if it was getting late she couldn't contemplate going to sleep, felt the need to be ready at a moment's notice. _This is what I've been waiting for and I will be in control as far as is possible._

She became aware of Luigi hovering at her side and holding another bottle of wine.

"Bicerina, Signorina?"

Her vision became clearer as she looked towards his kind face, crisper than it had been before.

"Luigi, what do you think happens to the world when you're not in it any more?" She gave some serious thought to the question; it had played on her mind all the more over these last few weeks. "Do you think it all just carries on, or do you think everything disappears?"

He offered her a perplexed smile, thrusting the bottle forward in the absence of any answer.

She took it as she stood, tucking the seat underneath the table. "Hopefully I can let you know. I'm not exactly sure how, but I assume that there must be a way."

"Umm...si, Signorina. Sleep well."

She moved out and up the stairs, her feet carrying her as though they were gliding on air. Voices and images vibrant in her mind while she sat on the sofa, poring over files and breaking into the bottle that Luigi had so kindly given.

" _Your mum's resting now, Molly. She's had a very big operation and won't wake up for a long while. We just have to wait now and see how she responds to the surgery."_

She looked up to the television screen, the programme that had been playing as background noise switching to show her little girl standing by herself in a hospital corridor.

"Don't be worried," she addressed her daughter, watching keenly as her expression started to shift at the sound of her voice, "I'm coming back, I promise you. You have to believe me, Molls."

Molly smiled before the picture flickered and changed back to what it had been before. Alex felt comforted, the biggest hope she had since she'd got here planted in her heart. Her little girl was waiting for her and she would be back very soon; the promise would keep her going through whatever was waiting in store.

The dull banging upon the door was replaced by a crash and the thudding of heavy footsteps coming ever closer. As quickly as she was able she turned the light out, diving behind the sofa to take cover.

* * *

Another night of hardly any sleep; they were becoming the norm now. She'd tidied up the mess the best she could before leaving for work; the television was well and truly unsalvageable, which caused her more sorrow than it should have done but it didn't really matter. She didn't need a gateway to Molly, not when she would be back with her for real soon enough. Hopefully by the time she was back this evening the new door would be in place, complete with yet another change of locks.

The Guv hadn't been seen this morning; probably lying low and licking his wounds, or otherwise building up the courage to give her the two sacred words, apparently impossible for him to say: _I'm sorry._

Her strides down the corridor were stopped abruptly as she came face to face with him, though he lowered his upon seeing her, turning sharply on the heels of his boots. Her heart and her stomach had sunk to the floor on the sight of him, dark bruising flowering around his right eye.

"Gene," she gasped, immediately dropping the facade she had planned to keep in place.

"Walked into a wall," he muttered as an unsatisfactory explanation, striding quicker towards the toilets.

"Guv!" Maybe he'd listen to her if she used the semi-professional term, maintained some semblance of distance between them. She knew only too well that the battering hadn't only come physically.

She hurried to catch up with him, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Guv," she repeated, the door swinging on its hinges behind her.

"What does the man on the door mean?" He flew round to face her, eyes blazing.

"Look, I..."

"The man on the door?"

"Men only," she murmured.

"When are you goin' to bloody well learn that? Sacred turf, Bolly."

She wasn't going to give in so easily. The state of his eye meant that whoever he'd had a run-in with was capable enough of taking on the formidable Gene Hunt; for all she knew they were the very same hooligans who smashed up her flat. She'd never seen him like this and it cut her deep; she could only begin to imagine how it must have affected him. One thing was for sure, he wouldn't be coping with it well.

The fact that they hadn't been on the most amiable of terms over the last couple of days made her feel all the more responsible.

"What happened?" she tried gently, knowing that he wasn't going to give her the answer she was after. After what had gone on in the past 48 hours she couldn't exactly blame him.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm clumsy. Two left feet."

Though she expected it, the fact he couldn't tell her the truth stung.

He moved to push his way into a cubicle; she stopped him with a hand against his arm.

"Please, Gene." She looked up at him with beseeching eyes. "They came to my flat."

A storm gathered in his gaze, he met her eyes with more insistence than the seconds previous.

"Did they lay a finger on you?"

She shook her head, a lump lodged in her throat. "No, I hid behind the sofa."

Lips pursed, he looked away from her, not before Alex could read relief as well as something akin to shame in his eyes. The need to atone bubbled up within her and given that time was running out, it was all the more important that she said her piece.

"Look, Gene, I..."

"No," he cut her off before she could even begin, "not now, okay? Not now."

As dumbfounded as she was she allowed him to bundle into a cubicle, slamming the door shut behind him. She leaned against the frame, the idea of leaving not entering her head for a second.

 _Okay, he's not going to respond to you on a personal level. Change of tack needed._

"We've called Donna in."

"I really do not want to talk to people."

She frowned at his response; _is that who I am to him, lumped in with the rest?_ "What's that supposed to mean?"

A beat of silence, and then his voice was bouncing off the echoing walls. "Just stop yappin' on like some demented chihuahua!"

"Look, she is in the video with our main suspect." She inhaled a deep breath, hoping that none of the other members of CID would choose to waltz in. "You're not going to let a couple of thugs intimidate you, are you?"

Unable to take the provocation he burst out, nearly taking the unsuspecting door off its hinges. She trailed him eagerly as he stormed his way out of the gents and up to the front desk.

"Viv," he addressed their unassuming skipper, slamming both hands down on the desk, "I want you to stick me in the cells."

"Guv?" Viv questioned, caught off guard.

Alex watched on as he shot his eyes between Viv and her, both equally as perplexed as one another.

"That way I might get a bit of peace and quiet!"

She felt helpless to intervene as Viv complied with Gene's request, the thought of Donna Mitchell sitting a few rooms away playing around the outskirts of her mind while the best part of it was occupied by Gene's torment. She half-listened as Chris and Ray mused on what the matter could possibly be, Chris's suggestion that he might be having some kind of breakdown swiftly dismissed with colourful imagery by Ray.

"Well, he can't sit down there by himself all day," she announced, mainly for her own benefit. "I'm going to go and have a word."

"He said 'e wanted to be alone," Ray interjected, suddenly full of concern.

She didn't like to think about all the other times he'd been left alone to ruminate, before she had come along.

"What people say and what they need are two different things."

She went with some hesitation to the cell with the door half-open, finding him sitting there. He didn't even look up to address her before he spoke.

"Should 'ave known you never bloody do as you're told."

"My DCI has disappeared to brood like an overgrown child, so I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to do in the circumstances."

She took a seat on the hard surface next to him, looking towards him as he pouted, doing a pretty good impression of how she'd described him. Inside, her stomach was turning over, her legs thankful for the fact that she was propped up.

"Gene," she ventured, keeping her voice soft, "you know, it's okay to be scared."

He turned his head towards her, a look flashing in his eyes that screamed _I'm not bleedin' scared_ , though it faded quicker than she thought it would.

"They went after you, Bols," he responded after a moment or two of contemplation. "A woman. I mean, that's a line right there."

A tingling weaved its way up her spine at what he had said. Of course he had important principles; he wouldn't stand for any woman having to defend herself against men who saw fit to attack at mere will. Put together with the way he was staring intently at her she could tell that this particular incident had got to him more than usual. Not only because he had been the subject, but because she had been involved too.

She felt herself soften yet further, scooting nearer and closing the gap between them. So much was sitting upon her tongue, fighting to emerge. She had the urge to bring her hand up to the discolouration that decorated his eye, attempt to take away some of the pain that was locked tight inside of him.

"No, but we can't sink to Riley's level."

The thought crossed her mind, not for the first time, that this might not have anything to do with Riley.

He breathed out a heavy sigh. "You know, there's always been scum preyin' on decent, ordinary folk. But there was a code of honour as well. You came at him from the front, not like a coward from the back."

She felt his frustrations and his laments, even if she had been far from comfortable with all of his methods. For the first time she could see the true fear he had, of being rendered obsolete in a world that was moving too fast for him to keep up with.

"Everybody wants to be the centre of the universe these days. Writin' their own rules, doin' whatever they want."

Another sensation struck her in the pit of the stomach; she'd been so selfish, letting everything consume her. Even when they were supposed to be a unit, there she was, cheerily telling him of her imminent plans to be off, leaving him to deal with all of the fallout and his issues that were fast escalating beyond his grasp all alone. _You've learnt enough by now, Guv_.

"And what are you planning to do?"

A hint of a smirk gathered upon his face. "D'you know, a good beatin' clears the head, Bols. Our Mr Riley thinks 'e can run his little empire. Thinks 'e can bump off someone like Colin Mitchell without retribution."

Now she could see a certain familiar flame stoke in his eyes.

"Well, I'm workin' out exactly what sort of retribution is required."

"Will you promise me something, Guv?"

He looked towards her, the ire that he held simmering down.

"That we'll do this the right way?"

"Sometimes, Bolly, you 'ave to fight fire with fire."

That didn't exactly fill her with confidence.

With the air cleared – at least in some respects – she got to her feet, stopped from leaving by Gene's voice behind her.

"I'm stayin' with you from now on, no questions. That ex-husband of yours can knock the door down if 'e wants, I don't care."

She laughed lightly. "I should hope not, it's being fixed as we speak."

The hairs on the back of her neck raised, goosepimples prickling her skin as he stood in front of her, trailing his hands down her arms, stopping short of curling his fingers around hers.

"Should 'ave been there for you, Bols."

"I could say the same," she replied, still pondering _what if_.

"It's not your job to look after my ugly mug. But if I can't protect you..." He looked away from her briefly, Alex sensing his regret and shame, though it had been as much her fault for being just as stubborn. "Then I dunno what I'm good for."

Her inhibitions left her in an instant, the need that had been building within her finally fulfilled as she reached up decisively, cupping his face with both of her hands, the tips of her fingers stroking soothingly against his skin, warm to the touch.

"You are good for so many things, Gene," she said firmly, counteracting the tenderness of her touch, "and not just for locking up scum in here."

She could see the glimmer lighting in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Y'know, Bols, never really thought about doin' the deed in a cell before, but if you carry on like that..."

"No, no," she purred, letting one hand snake down towards the collar of his shirt, fighting to keep her own desires in check, "let's save that for later. We have some fire to fight first."

* * *

" _Changed your mind again, Alex?" Summers was everywhere she looked, shaking his head in disappointment towards her. "This isn't like you. You pick a path and stick to it. Logic and reason over emotional impulse."_

 _She wanted to run away, escape his taunting, but as always it proved impossible._

" _Or perhaps that's who you used to be. Don't you find that everything can change when you're somewhere else? That's what I like about being here."_

" _I haven't," she reiterated, her voice sounding as though it was echoing into a void, "I just need a little bit longer, that's all. I can't just disappear without any explanation."_

" _Excuses, excuses...I've got a coin here, we could solve it now."_

 _She shook her head fiercely, the world around her going black aside from the persistence of his figure._

" _He's vulnerable. He needs help. He needs me." The ache grew in her chest as she thought of Gene. "Just a little longer, until I know that he'll be alright."_

 _The gaze meeting her was hard, failing to understand the very real dilemma that she faced._

" _Have you ever considered that you're the one making him vulnerable? The Lion was as strong as anything before Alex Drake came along. A little battle-scarred, perhaps...love does strange things to a man. Makes him weak."_

 _An unnerving smirk rose upon his lips, sending her blood cold._

" _Leaving will be the best thing you could do for him."_

" _You're trying to trick me. I know you are. The bullet's out now. I can do this my own way."_

 _A bitter laugh emerged, echoing around her ears._

" _I'm in control! I'm in control..."_

" _You keep telling yourself that, Alex."_

 _He clicked his fingers and the whole world shifted. Once again she was back in that familiar room, lying in the hospital bed, monitors beeping around her._

" _Mum!"_

" _Molls..."_

 _Her daughter's arms around her neck, her head pressed to the side of hers. She held on tight to her, clinging onto what she knew was true and what would come to be again._

 _Outside the room she could hear commotion, the raising of voices. Her heart stuttered as she heard the slam of palms against the door, glimpsed his face through the small pane._

" _Will you bloody let me in, I need to be with 'er!"_

" _Gene," she gasped, Molly's arms still wrapped about her._

" _I've got a right to be 'ere. You can't keep me away from 'er..."_

 _She imagined that the door would break down any second, but it proved to be too much of a barrier._

 _Summers was at her side again, speaking into her ear._

" _Who will it be, Alex? You can't keep both of them."_

 _He placed a hand on Molly's shoulder, though she didn't seem to be aware of him._

" _Get your hands off her," her voice lowered; she tried fervently to mask her desperation._

" _Come on, Molly. Time to say goodbye to your mum."_

 _She relinquished her grip, smiling towards Alex in the bed._

" _Bye, Mum."_

 _As she turned to go, Alex saw the gun that Summers held to the small of her daughter's back._

" _No! Molls...don't you dare!"_

 _Molly turned her head back round and just as she thought Summers was going to take aim, her heart frozen in fear within her chest, he smirked and raised the gun higher, his target the small glass pane of the door._

" _I suppose that means it'll be him. What will Fenchurch East do without their Guv?"_

 _The handle of the door rattled from the outside._

" _Bolly...I'm comin' for yer, it's alright..."_

" _Gene, stay there. Please!"_

 _Summers turned to offer her a sickening smile, his finger poised on the trigger._

" _Tails, you lose..."_

The sound of her screams and cries woke her up, the darkness still surrounding her. Gene's arms were around her in an instant, though she pushed him away at first, believing he was Summers. He didn't give up so easily, clasping her tighter, holding her to his chest. She felt the recognisable thudding of his heart against her head.

"Christ, Bolly. Scared me 'alf to death." His voice vibrated against her; even with his arms circling her she was shaking, couldn't seem to stop herself from doing so. "Shhh, it's alright. Alex. I've got yer, Alex. You're safe."

He rocked her as though she were a child, her head tucked underneath his chin. Aside from her laboured breathing, gradually slowing and evening out, the room was silent.

"Gene...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Ey, you don't need to say sorry, you daft mare. Everything's alright."

She began to whimper as she kept her head buried against his chest, the shadows covering them as they sat in her bed. _Was there greater trouble around the corner, something she hadn't even bargained on?_

"Those bastards," he muttered, his hand tangling in her hair, "if they even dare to come back 'ere , they'll wish they'd never been born. As for that piece of scum Riley, 'e'll get what's comin' to 'im..."

She lost track of what he was saying, thinking only of the dreadful scenario that her head had conjured up with the assistance of Summers. She honestly thought that once she'd had the operation that would be it; he'd stop plaguing her, disappear back to wherever he had come from without insisting upon her help and she could get back with the way of her own choosing. She berated herself for being so naive. _You should have learnt by now, it's not that simple._

"Gene," she murmured, recovering herself somewhat.

"Sorry, love." He pulled back, checking her over as if they'd been caught up in the commotion of a crime scene. In the dim light of the room she could just about make out the marks on his arms, the evidence of the beating he had been subjected to that had otherwise been hidden by his clothes. "D'you need anything? Glass of water, or somethin' stronger?"

She shook her head, her eyes meeting his, still holding more than a hint of fear even if it was largely masked by the darkness of the night.

"Just...hold me."

"I can do that. Come 'ere, love, let's get you comfortable."

He brought them both to lie back down, pulling her back flush against his chest, one arm secure around her waist while his other hand ran soothingly up and down her arm.

She couldn't let her mind go blank completely but the darkness helped, as did the murmuring of his voice, the warmth and whisky-tinge of his breath on the back of her neck.

"Only a bad dream, Bols. Nothin' can hurt you, not while I'm 'ere."

 _All well and good_ , she thought as the bulk of him lay behind her, remaining oblivious _._ _But I don't think I can stop something from hurting you._

* * *

She found herself drifting in and out that evening. Another case concluded, equilibrium restored. Chris and Shaz sat huddled together, having quite literally kissed and made up, Shaz full of ideas for the wedding. It wouldn't have been a surprise if she had started making a small-scale seating plan on the back of one of the menus, so giddy was she. _"It's goin' to be the best day of your life,"_ Chris had promised her, and there was no reason not to believe him.

Amidst the happiness, she felt haunted by what had come of Colin Mitchell and his father, his killer. How could a father see fit to do that to his own son, a situation becoming so broken that it went past the point of all retrieval? Stanley Mitchell did appear to be a ruined man, the remorse clear in his eyes. A moment of madness, the worst never meant. Yet underneath the surface there had been room enough for calculation, the natural instinct to save his own skin not eradicted.

" _It had gone too far with him_ ," he had told them during the interview, _"the poison had sunk too deep. I couldn't save him, bring him back to what he had been. He'd been such a good lad when he was young. He was like my shadow. What I wouldn't give to be able to go back..."_

Her father had tried to kill her. She had been an innocent, surely there had been no excuse? She could still see his face upon the screen, giving justification for his actions to her adult self.

" _The truth was sullied and it could never be unsullied."_

She had adored her father for all of her life. Part of her still did, even after the truth of what he had done had been revealed. Something had poisoned him. Her mother's betrayal. His mind, always so logical, had been shattered. His heart broken, beyond all repair. Could it ever be worth taking such destructive action? If he had the choice, perhaps he would have done things differently.

" _But shed no tears for me, Caroline or Alex. We are where we want to be. Together, forever."_

He came to her in another guise, the white paint cracking upon his face. She'd always been terrified of clowns, though she had never been able to explain why.

 _It's not too late, Alex. You can still come and join us._

A hand was stretching out towards her, almost as real as if he was in the room.

 _We can be together again, forever._

She pulled herself up just in time, before she screamed the walls down and left them all speechless, in no doubt of her insanity.

"Duly noted." Gene's voice came back into her consciousness; she turned her gaze towards him as he addressed Luigi over the noisy crackling of the radio that was playing. "And stick some music on. Whatever Mussolini speech that is, it's givin' me a 'eadache."

"It's the football, Signor Hunt," Luigi explained enthusiastically, turning the radio up louder, "Italia. _Campioni del mondo! Squadra azzurri._ Greatest team on Earth!"

Ray walked up towards the bar, cigarette in hand. "Yeah, it's only 'cause you didn't meet us on the way."

The commentator bellowed at a hundred miles an hour, everyone other than Luigi screwing up their faces at what they considered to be a load of unintelligible rubbish.

" _Is there any news, doctor?"_

Molly's voice, interrupting the broadcast.

Luigi leaned forward, making to adjust the station.

" _Is my mum going to be okay?"_

"No, no, don't touch it," Alex stood up, blocking the Italian's reach, tipping her head closer to the receiver.

" _Yes, Molly. Your mum's doing really well and the operation was a complete success."_

A voice that she didn't recognise, but all the news was good. _That must mean I'm going home soon._

" _Now we just have to wait for her to wake up. It won't be long before you can be with her again."_

Her heart, which had been melancholic, lifted up. "Thank you," she murmured, tears of gratitude pricking at her eyes.

" _Doctor, the coma patient in room five is having a seizure."_

" _Okay, nurse, I'll be right there."_

The reception crackled, returning to its previous broadcast.

"GOAL!"

Luigi jumped for joy, almost knocking her from her feet in his euphoria.

"Goal! Si! Goal! Goal! Goal, si! Bravo, Italia!"

As he reached out for her she hugged him instinctively, thoughts of Molly and being back home filling her mind and making her similarly euphoric. _It won't be long, not at all._

Luigi's grin was wide as she pulled away, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Champagne, Luigi, I think."

"Si, si," he replied, a little dazed before he disappeared back behind the bar.

"I 'ope that's goin' on your tab, Bolly," Gene quipped, lowering his voice. "Need to keep that little matter on the hush-hush."

"You know, I'm going to miss these nights," she smiled as she sank back into her seat, "you lot, you're not that bad."

"S'not what you said in your letter," Ray muttered. Both Chris and Shaz shot him an accusing look, but he remained guilt-free.

"In my _what_ , Ray?"

"The letter," he repeated, still bold as brass, "you know, the one we're not s'posed to open until you're gone."

She supposed that she shouldn't have been too shocked that DS Carling had ignored her request, holding her hand out towards him to ask for the article back. She might have expected Chris to follow suit – and indeed, he did – but Shaz came as more of a disappointment.

"These are going in my desk," she announced, feeling a bit like a school-ma'am, "and if – _when_ I get back, then you can have them."

Luigi scooted over, depositing the champagne and flutes upon the table.

"And I'm not repressed, or whatever it bloody said," Ray snapped, "it's bollocks, that."

Shaz's smiling face was a welcome relief from Ray's scowl. "What you said, ma'am, about my potential? I really appreciate it."

"Couldn't understand a bloody word of mine," Chris admitted, quite happily.

Her gaze flitted over towards where Gene sat, eyeing him intently until he made the move of his own accord, taking the letter from the inside pocket of his jacket and handing it back to her.

"What did you do?" she asked, examining the apparently unbroken seal carefully, "steam it and then seal it back up again?"

"No," he responded plainly, elbow leaning heavily on the table.

She drew herself forward closer to him, the smile waiting to spring forth on her lips at the assurance of his faithfulness.

"Didn't read it? Not even a little bit curious about what I'd written about you?"

He pulled himself up, leaning in close so that they were almost nose to nose. Alex's heart drummed within her chest, her breath held in suspension as she waited for him to make the next move. Of course he wasn't going to kiss the face off her, not in front of everyone else.

"You see, that's your problem, Bols," he said, eyes locked with hers, "always got a question. Meanwhile there's a perfectly good bottle of shampoo there just waitin' to be opened."

With all the fuss over the letters she'd quite forgotten about the alcohol she had ordered. She reached for the bottle, gripping the neck in her hand.

He rolled his eyes at her efforts. "Give it 'ere, woman."

"I can do it."

He came closer still over the table. "Be quicker if you used yer knickers."

She raised her eyebrows suggestively, lowering her voice. "Who says I'm wearing any? I'm the one who ordered it, remember."

"Sweet Jesus..."

Once the bottle had been drained – not that it took very long between all of them – she found herself at the bar, feeling light-headed in a good way. The voices revolved in her head, offering her the reassurance she needed at just the right time. _The operation was a complete success. It won't be long before you can be with her again_. She closed her eyes, sniffing the air; she could smell the honey-scent of fresh tulips at her bedside, which meant that she must have been well enough to be in a regular room.

The tinge of sorrow remained in her heart, knowing that getting back home meant that she had to leave Gene behind. What was the saying; _better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all_. She could be grateful for that, and he seemed in better spirits since the Mitchell case had come to a head. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part, but she hoped not.

The man himself sidled up to join her, and she gave him a hazy smile, her eyes adjusting back to the light.

"Not pissed are we, Fizzy Knickers?" He cast his eyes down to where she was perched upon the stool. "That's if you've got them on."

"No to your first question," she replied, "and as for your second...well, you'll have to wait and see."

"Sounds good to me, Bols, especially as there's not long 'til closin' time." He turned himself towards her, his frame acting as a shield, and stared at her intently. "Dunno why you bothered with those letters."

"I was hoping that they could take a bit of advice, even if they can't show any restraint. Anyway, it's nice to have something of someone after they've gone. To remind you of them."

An ache rose in her throat as she thought of her parents again.

"Bloody 'ell, you're talkin' as though yer gunna croak it," he exclaimed. "I can safely say that nobody 'ere is gunna 'ave any trouble rememberin' you, Bols. Least of all me, unlucky sod that I am."

Though it was something of a back-handed compliment, she smiled at him anyway.

"I hope not."

His eyes burned as he kept them trained upon her. "Trust me, everythin' I need is up 'ere. On playback whenever I need it. Already at danger of breakin' the rewind button."

She chuckled, hunching her shoulders as she looked up at him. She had quite a few memories to take with her too, enough to sustain her on the cold and lonely nights back in 2008 – though they would never come close to the real thing.

"Y'know, I never did take you out for that dinner. Dover sole and all the trimmings. Yer still up for it?"

She could hardly say _no_ , not when they'd skipped the whole dinner date component of their relationship almost completely entirely.

And she didn't know when she would be leaving. It could be hours, rather than days by now.

"Most definitely," she smiled, looking at him with wonder. He might not keep much store with sentimental keepsakes, but his soul wasn't completely devoid of romance. He did know what was important, and especially so to her.

"Good," he said, wearing a smile of his own, one which reached straight into her soul. A perfect keepsake of her own. "Luigi won't bug me about the bloody tab for one night. And remember what I said about the dress-code, Bols. Give me a lastin' image of yer."

She already had precisely the thing in mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Parts of this chapter will be familiar...and others not so much. Thanks for reading, as ever!**

* * *

 _Chapter 6_

 _Don't make me feel any colder  
Time is like a clock in my heart  
Touch me touch, was the key too much  
I felt I lost you from the start_

 _Ooh in time it could have been so much more  
But time is precious I know  
In time it could have been so much more  
The time has nothing to show_

 _Because time won't give me time  
And time makes lovers feel like they've got something real  
But you and me we know we've got nothing but time  
And time won't give me time_

* * *

Tapping the pen in her hand against the desk in synchronicity with the ticking of the clock, Alex lamented. Second time around had proved to be as successful as the first. She had bought a new dress especially and booked an appointment at the hairdressers', but instead found herself freezing her arse off in the back of a Transit van for going on the entire night. Oh well; that was what being a police officer entailed, and she supposed it was more fitting for her last hurrah. At least she had still spent the evening with Gene, bundled up closer than they would have been at whatever swanky restaurant he had promised to take her to. The third most expensive bottle of Sauvignon Blanc on the menu replaced with watered-down tea from a flask.

She shivered with the memory of the night; it had been bitterly cold, the first real hint of the oncoming winter in the air. But the chills had more to do with how events had progressed once they were out of the van. Gene took unawares, an arm around his neck and a knife pointed at his throat. Instead of being swept off her feet by him at the end of a sumptuous evening the tables were turned, and it had been Mummy Bear to the rescue. It was getting to be a habit, her stomach rolling when she considered that the occurrences of Gene being in danger were more than just coincidence.

 _He needs me._ The conviction felt stronger than ever deep within her soul.

If she looked up she expected to see the face that taunted her constantly staring through the thin pane of glass in the swing doors.

 _Time's running out...leaving will be the best thing you could do._

The drug bust hadn't been her last case after all, not once the body turned up underneath a slab of concrete. An accident, no complications or hidden mysteries. _Sometimes bad things just happen. There doesn't have to be a reason._

She'd do well to remember that.

That was, of course, until the pathologist turned up something more. Now they had a murder case on their hands and her first hunch that it was all rather coincidental that both a truckload of drugs _and_ a dead body were on the same building site seemed to be proving to have more substance. Synapses were lighting up a trail in her brain, followed by the sound of small bells sounding.

 _Two for two. I think you're onto something. Now, if you can hit the jackpot then we'll all be happy..._

She had to do _something_ ; sitting and ruminating had never led to anything worthwhile.

"Does anyone want a cup of tea?"

She stood up, waving a mug in her hand, waiting for a response that never came. Not so much as a glance of interest towards her.

"Hello...am I invisible?"

 _I suppose you are, Alex_.

Sitting at her desk, Shaz was scribbling away on a large piece of paper that was spread out in front of her.

"Now, I thought that my aunties could go here, and that means there would be space for your rowdy cousins near the back, which will keep the peace...Chris? Have you heard a word I've been saying?"

DC Skelton pulled his head upwards, looking over at Shaz with sufficiently delayed reactions.

"Er yeah...whatever you like."

The usually sunny disposition of the younger woman turned to thunder in the swiftest of seconds. "Well, you could at least _pretend_ to be interested. I mean, it's nothing really, only the most important day of our lives, and yet you don't give a toss!"

" 'e's only gettin' in trainin'," Ray remarked, appearing far too amused, "might as well get used to it now."

Shaz ignored Ray's sniping, her gaze fixed upon Chris. "After the other week I thought you understood how much this meant to me. And I thought it meant something to you too." She sniffed loudly, bringing a hand up to her eyes. "Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought."

Rather too late Chris snapped out of his daydreaming, watching an obviously-upset Shaz head out of CID's main room and into the kitchenette.

"Shazza, wait!"

"If you're makin' a brew, then get one for me an' all," Ray shouted after the departed pair, and finally noticed Alex as he got out of his seat, wandering over to Shaz's desk to have a nosey.

"I asked literally two minutes ago," she exclaimed with exasperation to Ray's dismissive shrug, before his eyes went downward. "I don't think you should be looking at that. It's private."

"Is it 'eck. I'm not bloody riflin' through 'er diary."

Alex remained unimpressed, although not surprised. Nothing was sacred in here, least of all the respect for anyone's privacy.

After a moment's contemplation, a grin spread across Ray's face and he clapped his hands together.

"Bloody jackpot. Alice and Elizabeth. They sound like a right pair of crackers. Now to 'ope that they've got them as well, and I'll be a very happy man indeed."

"Chris'sake, don't tell me we've got a kidnappin' on our hands an' all." Gene cast his steely gaze around the room, which was rather depleted. "Where are the rest of them?"

"Poirot and Terry are scouting the building site," she handily informed him.

"And the lovebirds 'ave had another tiff."

Ray pointed Gene's attention to what was laid out upon Shaz's desk.

"Soddin' hell," he said with a groan, "I 'ad hoped she was doin' somethin' of importance. Once a plonk, always a bloody plonk...I've got a mind to rip that thing to shreds right now."

"You might not 'ave to bother, Guv," Ray interjected, "by the sounds of things I reckon the whole thing's off. For at least a couple of hours, anyway."

"Boo bloody hoo. Best take that suit back, then."

He looked up from the plan that was as detailed as if Shaz had been planning a complicated heist, catching Alex's eye for a moment before addressing the dwindled number that were gathered.

"Unless I am mistaken we are investigatin' a murder case, and if we don't pull our fingers out we're gunna wish we were the ones swimmin' in concrete. Time to start acting like police officers and stop thinkin' we've landed in Mallory bloody Towers!"

Without him having to bark one of her nicknames she arrived at his side, following him as he went back the short distance to his office.

"When Grainger gets back you can tell 'er to do the same, and get that bleedin' thing out of sight."

Ray nodded his understanding solemnly, the smirk breaking out again once the door to Gene's office was firmly shut and the blinds closed.

"Bet 'e wishes she 'ad a school-girl's uniform..."

Alex leant against the desk gingerly, watching as Gene paced the floor back and forth, attempting to work out his frustration. It was a matter of seconds before he reached for the scotch tucked not very cleverly away, swigging straight from the bottle before offering her an empty glass, which she politely refused.

Hardly a good sign, even for someone like him. He was more shaken than he was letting on. But what could she do? It wasn't something that could be solved within the space of a few days, and she couldn't stay around for much longer, not when the bullet was out and there was no other reason to delay, other than for the man standing in front of her whom she did care deeply about, against all better reason.

"Stop bloody starin' at me," he ordered, quieter than she had expected.

"Sorry," she murmured, fiddling with an earring and dropping her gaze to the floor.

Even with everything that had passed between them so frequently she felt as though she was standing on the edges, kept cold to her bones. It was for the best, _really_ ; things didn't need to get yet more complicated. She wouldn't be happy leaving it this way, though. Their bond had to be honoured for what it really was, not a fling to pass the time or a distraction to keep her heart beating.

Maybe that was the key, more significant then she'd ever given credit for. He'd saved her countless times and she was only beginning to scratch the surface on breaking even. But it didn't have to be a physical feat. It was the emotional part, that closed-off bit of his psyche that she needed to get to. In so many moments when it had been just the two of them and they had exchanged deep looks without the space-filling presence of words she was certain that she was more than halfway there.

"The other night," she said, clearing her throat and capturing his attention once more, "if you want me to apologise, then I'm not going to. I'd rather be your rescuer than your nurse-maid."

His eyes blazed as she stared at him, ignoring his previous command and holding her arms against her chest. Gradually the pressure eased and he offered no counter-argument, to her pleasant surprise.

"Wouldn't mind seein' you in the get-up," he replied, causing her to smile briefly. A hand went to the back of his head, scratching his neck. "I dunno, caught me unawares. Not that it's 'appened very often before, which is probably what did it."

"Of course not."

Her smile deepened as his gaze bent to her will, steel not being completely immovable. Gene Hunt was capable of admitting to the chinks in his armour; miracles _could_ indeed happen.

He came closer to her, muttering something almost unintelligible with his head pointed towards the floor.

"Sorry, I don't think I _quite_ caught that."

He wore a disgruntled expression, reluctantly softening as his eyes locked once more with hers.

"Thank you," he repeated more clearly as he towered over her, and she felt a rush within her veins, her body flooding with adrenaline and phenylethylamine.

 _Wasn't so hard after all._

The feeling floated within the air, lasting as he continued to look towards her as if she were the only thing that mattered on the earth. Reality was never far away, or at least some version of it.

"Do you think they'll turn anything up at the site?" she asked, getting them back to business.

"Probably not, unless by some ruddy miracle a brickie sees fit to make an unprompted confession. But I've never been that lucky."

Half of her hoped that it would take a while, just so that she had the chance to see him right, whilst the other half writhed in guilt.

"Do 'ave somethin' though. I tracked down my mysterious informant," he went on, his eyes fixed on her but taking on a decidedly less romantic air. "Much as it pains me to say it, I think you might be right."

"No, no. I'm not right. I'm wrong." She watched him as his eyebrows raised in disbelief that she could admit to such a thing. "It's just the way things happen sometimes and it doesn't have to be complicated."

He shook his head, looking away from her. "No. It's too much of a coincidence."

Well, she was getting sick to the back teeth of coincidences.

Behind them the phone rang and he let a moment pass, sharing a glance with her before moving out of her line of vision to answer it.

"Ta, Shaz. Let 'im in."

Alex looked over her shoulder, watched as his long fingers put the receiver back into place.

"Speak of the devil."

She tipped her head back slowly, the substances that had been rushing in her bloodstream freezing to ice as said informant came through the door, the rest of CID looking on eagerly to get as much as they could about the tall, young policeman in the pristine uniform who had entered the Guv's office.

He glanced towards Alex briefly before looking dead ahead, greeting Gene with a cautious tone but a clear eye.

"DCI Hunt?" he enquired, the Irish accent distinctive to her listening ears. "PC Summers."

* * *

She barely heard a word of the exchange, only speaking once herself, asking a terse question to the outsider and trying fervently not to meet his eyes for more than a couple of seconds at a time. She felt woozy and on edge all at once, needing to be ready for the fight if it came. He remained firm to the spot, a perfect model of obedience.

 _How could this be happening?_ When she had asked Shaz to look up Martin Summers nothing had been returned, which led her to believe that he really was just a figment. She felt sick as it occurred to her; _of course there wouldn't be anything on file that fit the description, because he wasn't a Detective Inspector then_.

She chanced another, longer glance at this Summers. He was likely mid-twenties, which would have fit. The resemblance was striking, not only in physical appearance but in his mannerisms and the way he held himself. She could have been looking at the son of the Summers she knew, if he indeed had one.

 _Perhaps that was the explanation, and they were in it together._ But could that have even possible? It seemed very convenient that two generations would be in the same hospital, one sacrificing himself for the other. He would have mentioned something, surely, especially when he took great pleasure in taunting her about Molly.

"Well, thank you for bringin' this to my attention," Gene moved a hand in the air, "dismissed."

"Sir," the young Summers responded, hovering at the door.

 _Just go_ , Alex willed silently, _go and never come back._

"Look, you won't, er...I mean, you won't tell anyone I came?"

She turned towards Gene, taking notice of the look in his eyes.

"Thank you, constable."

PC Summers slipped out of the office, leaving her unsettled and uncomfortable. It was all too real now; no longer an illusion she could blame on confusion or clinging onto the edge of consciousness.

"Seems like a good lad," was Gene's assessment, oblivious to the chaos that lay behind everything.

It seemed like hours had passed before she could bring herself to meet his eyes.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her legs felt unsteady as she stood upon them. "Something...something's come over me."

"Thought yer liver was cast-iron by now." He nodded towards the door, giving her permission to leave. "Go on, but bloody hurry."

She headed for the swing doors swiftly, hoping that she wasn't too late. Her gaze flitted from corner to corner, determinedly on the lookout, and then she saw his figure briefly, ducking into the gents.

Keeping her breath paused she watched him as he stood stopped in front of a cubicle, almost as if he was waiting for something to happen. She pushed that particular suspicion from her mind, seizing him by the collar and shoving him against said cubicle, the adrenaline surging and supplying her with the strength to keep him pinned in place.

"What the hell are you doing?" he stuttered, his eyes wide.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I – I told the DCI." He tried to manoeuvre himself, wrench away from her tight grip. "Look, I thought - "

"Just as I'm finally about to get out of here, you show up. It's a coincidence too far." Her pulse was pounding in her neck, pain radiating in her frontal cortex. "Is that really your name?"

"I don't - "

"Is it your name?!" Her throat was raw with the force of shouting.

"Yes," he responded, his voice shaky. "I - I don't understand. Am I supposed to know you?"

"I know about _you_ ," she said, her fists clenching. She could throw him in a cell right now, if it wouldn't cause all hell to break loose. "Where is he, then? Waiting outside, I suppose?"

"I don't know who..."

"Don't play games with me, I've had enough of it." He was doing a very good job of playing dumb. "You – your boss."

"I don't know what you mean. Please, I've done what I had to do...just let me go, please."

She drew her face closer to his, could observe his own pulse ticking sharply in his neck.

"Alright," her fingers loosened themselves, knowing that she had little choice now that he had involved himself in the case, made himself known to Gene. "But you tell him to leave me out of it, whatever it is. I'm not going to play along, even now that he's got you following me."

He continued to look at her perplexed, even frightened by her display.

"The bullet's out. I am going to do this in my own way, and I am not going to give in. You tell him that, right? That I will get back on my own terms."

She pushed him out of her grasp, towards the door, and he looked back at her fighting for breath before making a swift dash.

Alex leaned against the wall, trying to regulate her breathing, her hand held underneath her left breast, commanding her heart to slow itself. She went to the sink, splashing some cold water upon her face, and after a moment or two rationality kicked in.

She headed out of the toilets and strode purposefully towards the front desk, a plan formulating quickly. While she couldn't let Gene know she also couldn't let Summers slip away, not when the chance was right there ready for the taking.

"Viv, ring my extension."

The skipper's gaze followed her as she went back in the direction of CID. "Ma'am...?"

"Just ring it, please."

She made it to her desk before the phone stopped, plucking up the receiver.

"D.I. Drake. Right...okay...stay there, I'll be over as soon as I can."

As if on command Gene emerged from his office, eyeing her with concern. "Bolly?"

She shucked on her jacket, offering him a glance. "You're not the only one with informants."

His expression changed in a flash, hardening towards her. "And why 'aven't I known about this before now?"

"They're nervous," she explained, the need to leave as quickly as she could heavy on her mind, "it needs a sensitive approach. I'm going alone."

"Bolly..."

"I won't be long," she did her best to stay calm, appeasing him with a measured tone, "this could be really important. Trust me."

To her relief he didn't say anything more, nor moved to stand in her way.

She broke into a run on exiting the station, not for the first time cursing the impracticality of her footwear. She was surprised she hadn't fell and twisted her ankle before now. Turning the first corner she felt that it was probably hopeless; he'd be long gone by now, especially if he had jumped a cab. She was about to give up when she turned onto the next street but then the uniformed figure with honeyed hair came into view. Energy flooded her anew.

She stayed on his tail as he turned down various corners, busying herself with apparent distractions so as not to be too close in sight. He entered a pub at the top of Bedford Row and she found herself lingering in the nearby streets, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible to passers-by. If only Poirot and Terry hadn't taken so bloody long she could have used their car instead of going on foot.

Luckily he left a little over half-an-hour later, changed into civilian clothes and wearing a pull-on hat. It was his gait that gave him away and Alex continued her pursuit, feeling even more unnerved. _He must be up to something if he doesn't want to be identified._

She followed him out of the city and into the suburbs, tall and largely leafless trees lining the pavements. Concealing herself behind one she watched as he stopped on a corner, looking about the otherwise empty street. Her heart was in her throat, hoping that he hadn't gotten wind of her. She felt so distracted, she almost failed to notice where they had ended up. Her recollections came into sharp focus as he turned the corner into the adjoining road and as she ducked behind a row of parked cars, watching him as he crossed the quiet street, her heart dropped like a stone.

Summers looked up towards the top of the house after entering through the gate, shifting on his feet, hesitating. Alex watched him as he moved forward with more purpose, making his way within centimetres of the door. _Please_ , she shouted within her head, _don't do this. I'm begging you._

She could see that he was ready to burst through the door, using his shoulder to barricade his way in, but at the last moment something stopped him. An attack of conscience or a hangover of fear, she had no way of knowing. He looked up again, pulling the hat from his head and turning back down the steps, closing the gate without making a sound and starting to jog back down the route from whence he had came, not sacrificing another glance or second.

Her stomach was churning and her hands were still shaking from the scene she had witnessed as she made her way up to the house. She could have walked the path in her sleep, her feet remembering the way she had skipped along, making a game of avoiding the cracks between the flags.

She pressed on the doorbell, unsure of whether she should similarly turn tail. But she'd come this far and had to do something.

The dishevelled figure blinked at her in disbelief on opening the door, looking as though he hadn't long been roused from sleep. "Alex?"

She managed a smile towards him, trying not to come across too abhorred by his appearance. His hair was unkempt and shaggy, his beard longer and in desperate need of a trim. He wore a t-shirt and faded jeans which left her disorientated; in all her life she'd never seen him in such tatty clothes, he was always so fastidious about the way he presented himself.

"Evan," she uttered, half-wondering whether she had got the right house until he gave a small smile in response. _Shit, now she was face to face with him she had no idea what to actually say._ "Um, I'm here on an investigation. Scouting the area."

He accepted her explanation without question, standing awkwardly and half-disguised by the open door.

"I thought while I was here I might as well stop by."

He nodded; his eyes seemed glazed as he cast them back from the floor towards her. "Would you...um, would you like to come in?"

It didn't feel right; she felt acutely like an intruder, there under false pretences. Still, it seemed impolite to refuse and she felt responsible and worried for him. _He could have been killed, if Summers hadn't changed his mind._

"Hunt not in tow?" he asked as she followed him through the hallway, trying not to look at the surroundings she found so familiar.

"No, it's a big job. We're casting the net wide, spreading out."

"Sounds worrying. Please," he stood back, signalling that she should go through into the front room first, "can I get you anything? Coffee?"

Though perfectly innocent the offer cast a shiver up her spine. To think at one point she had actually seriously considered doing more than flirting with him, thinking that nothing she did here could possibly matter. She knew differently now.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"I might...if you don't mind?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "Go ahead."

The room was in as much of a state as Evan seemed to be, plates on the floor where there wasn't enough space for them on the table, letters and newspapers strewn out. She had to make her way carefully towards the sofa, noticing that only one of the blinds covering one window was open, throwing light into half of the room but leaving the rest in dim shadow.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologised when he came in a few minutes later, sitting himself on the armchair opposite, "I don't have many visitors."

"There's no need," she replied, putting on a voice. She could certainly never remember things being so out of hand. Childhood memories could be distorted, obviously, but she doubted to such an extent as this.

He was looking away from her, aware of what she must have thought and feeling ashamed for it. Not that he had any need to be.

"How is everything?" she asked. _Oh, nice one, Alex._ "I haven't seen you...well, since..."

 _The explosion sounded loud against her ears, robbing her temporarily of her hearing. Nothing other than flames in front of her. She had sunk helplessly to her knees, unable to do anything to stop what had always been inevitable. Looking up the hill she saw her younger self and Gene's figure running towards her, taking her small hand. She felt it in her own, even though it must have been impossible. The sky above turned from blue to grey, clouded by the reams and reams of smoke, and she screamed towards it as another burst came forward, robbing any chance that there was left._

 _Gene's voice in her mind, confirming himself and dismissing all she had chosen to believe so fervently._

" _I'm everywhere, Bolly. I was needed and I was there."_

He met her gaze again, at a temporary loss for words.

"Um, good," he lied, scratching the side of his nose, "I mean, as good as I can be, in the circumstances."

"No cases?"

He shook his head. "I'm on a leave of absence, until the new year. They've been very good about it, I've been lucky. To tell you the truth, I'm dreading going back."

She thought for the first time about what she would do, work-wise, when she came round. No doubt she'd be prevented from field duty and she couldn't see them letting her coach other officers, either, not when she had suffered such a trauma herself. It would give her time to finish off the book properly, even if the thought made her rather uneasy. Perhaps she'd omit the Sam Tyler chapter.

"And how...how is Alex?" It always felt strange referring to herself directly; she was juggling so many different versions.

He smiled at the mention. "She's well. She's away at school, just gone back after the half term."

"Of course. Thank God," she uttered without thinking. _Summers wouldn't have succeeded anyway, if that had been his plan, to gun down Evan and then to shoot her, the innocent incarnation who deserved it the least of all._

"Sorry?"

She caught herself, straightened her shoulders. "Oh, just...thank God you have her, really. And that she has you, too."

She didn't want to imagine what it would have been like if Evan's bid for custody had been unsuccessful. Aside from him, she really did have no one.

Or at least, _had_.

His smile returned. "Yes, we're very lucky. I don't know what I would have done without Alex. She gives me a reason..." His voice trailed off a little, the emotion within it evident. "I put on a show for her. Hence, when she's away, things quickly slide."

She nodded in understanding. "I know how hard it is, to raise a child on your own." As he dipped his head she knew that wasn't the only struggle that affected him. "Have you ever...thought about seeing someone? To help you with...grief takes a long time to overcome, if we ever overcome it completely."

If anything it had hit her harder the second time around, the knowledge that had been previously hidden from her compounding the weight of the feeling.

"I'm not sure it would help," he said after a long silence, his voice croaky and unshed tears visible in his eyes. "It's not grief that haunts me. Well, it is there, obviously, but..."

The uneasy sensation overwhelmed her as she watched him grapple with trying to find the words. She shouldn't be here. Wished that she had never come to know the truth.

"I should go."

"No," he all but cried out, compelling her to sit back down after she had rose, and smiling weakly through his tears. "Please. It'll be a relief to say it out loud. I mean that."

She settled herself back on the sofa, waiting patiently for him to continue. Another position she had never expected herself to be in, offering a sympathetic ear to her godfather. She couldn't say that it was entirely non-judgemental.

"It's the guilt," he began again slowly, stopping to inhale deeply and then exhale, wanting to release the pain. "Knowing that I could have done more. If I had just been that bit more persistent...but I've never really been like that. I asked her, more than once."

She closed her eyes briefly, seeing the face before her. _Mum_.

"You were in love with her, weren't you?"

It pained her to say it, thinking of her father and the torture he must have gone through when he found out. She recalled his voice, listening in on a conversation she should never have been privy to. _I felt we would be together forever. Forever and ever._

She was torn, knowing that he didn't deserve her sympathy, not when he could have took her life so cheaply. Yet she couldn't erase the love completely.

"You were in love with Caroline."

His eyes went wide; the least surprising confession that had ever been uttered to her.

"She was in love with me, too. I knew she was. Things between her and Tim had become irreparable, but I never expected he would...I asked her," he returned to where he had been before she had interrupted him, "Begged her, is the more accurate way of putting it, to run away with me. I don't really know to where, I hadn't figured that out."

That seemed characteristic, somehow.

"I was crushed when she said no, but I understood. She never would have left Tim, even with everything as it was. She never would have left Alex. She loved her so much. She wanted everything to be right for her. All she did was to protect her, even if she couldn't have known..."

His voice broke as he began to cry properly, and she fought to hold back her own tears at his revelations.

 _My mother loved me. She loved me._

 _That love will keep me going, it will make me survive._

So much love. Too much. _Something has to give._

"I wish I had some way of knowing, as stupid as that sounds. Some way of seeing into the future." He sniffed back the tears that weren't close to stopping. "I might have been able to stop it, if I could have got there sooner. That bastard..."

"You couldn't have done anything," she said, her voice catching slightly, "nobody could have."

 _You can't change history. I tried; I tried so hard._

 _She had dreamt of her mother telling her the opposite and woke up in tears, streaming down her face._

She offered him a tissue from the box that was almost hidden out of sight with all the debris on the table.

"I can't help thinking that it was my fault. I should never have...I should have run away at the first signs." He smiled wistfully, scrunching up the tissue in his hand. "You can't help which way you fall, I suppose."

Gene's face was in her mind as her stomach simultaneously contracted in pain and filled with butterflies. She was reliving something that hadn't even happened yet.

" _You do know when I walk through those doors they're goin' to come for me?"_

" _Yeah. Well, there's only one thing for it..."_

Doing away with the strange vision she looked towards Evan, smiling encouragingly.

"I'm sorry, but I really should..."

"Of course," he said, arising from his seat and following her out into the hallway. "It was nice to see you. And I'm sorry for all of..."

"No, no," she assured him. "I'm glad you could let it out. A little."

He smiled towards her, seeming more hopeful than he had done when she first arrived. Reassured, she was reminded of why she had come in the first place.

"Look, I don't want to alarm you, but you have to watch out." She watched as his expression shifted slightly. "I can't really go into it too much, but just...be careful. Especially when Alex is here. You have to look after her closely."

Evan nodded. "I will. It's become my life's work, especially in the last year."

She smiled, thinking of the past and all the times he had been there for her. He was the one who was looking after Molly now, while she was away, and she would be forever grateful.

"I could say the same to you about being careful," he returned after a moment or two.

"What?" Another shiver snaked through her veins, going deeper than those that had appeared previously.

He frowned. "This investigation, and generally. I mean, it's not an easy thing that you do."

"No." Relief came over her. "Thank you. I'll do what I can to stay vigilant."

She walked half the way and then jumped a cab back to the station, aware that the time was getting on to the end of the afternoon and she had been away longer than she had bargained on. As she could have expected when she slunk back through the doors of CID Gene was waiting for her, a face like thunder as he beckoned her back into the corridor.

"Where in God's name 'ave you been? I was on the verge of sendin' out a search party. I 'ope this tip-off of yours was worth it."

"Dead end," she thought quickly on her feet, "case of mistaken identity, I'm afraid."

He looked incredulous. "Then what the bloody 'ell were you doin' then? Havin' a spot of tea?"

"I'm allowed a bit of a breather, aren't I?"

"Not when you're on my team, you're not. Now we've got to go and pay Lafferty a visit tomorrow, and who knows 'ow many brickies 'e'll bump off in the meantime."

"That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?" she scoffed, folding her arms against herself defensively. "Besides, we only have one word for it, and I don't think it should be trusted." She lowered her voice even though there was nobody else around to listen. "What if Summers set this murder up?"

"I told that lad I'd keep his name out of it."

 _And you'd believe his word over mine?_ But of course, she couldn't give him her version of events.

"I'm telling you, this is exactly the kind of thing he'd do." She felt herself getting increasingly worked up. "Frame Lafferty to..."

"To what?" he cut across her.

She had to stop herself again. "I don't know, but he's up to something. He's calculating, he's manipulative, he's dangerous. That's what he is."

 _Please believe me_ , she pleaded with him in her mind, _he could do something terrible to me. Destroy my whole life._

He remained unconvinced of her belief, hands planted in his pockets. "Seemed like a decent copper to me. Exactly what we need around 'ere. Now come on, Bols, let's get our thinkin' caps on over a bottle or two of house rubbish."

"I'll just go and freshen up," she said, beating a path to the ladies, leaving him with the smallest and weakest of smiles.

Even if he didn't believe what PC Martin Summers was capable of, she did. And it would be up to her to see that he would be brought to justice.

* * *

 _A dream within a dream. She woke when a hand shook her upon her shoulder, murmuring in confusion. Her mother's image was blurred, slowly coming into focus as she got her bearings, smiling at her from the edge of her bed. Her own bed, not the non-descript hospital one._

" _Boo," she uttered softly, her smile unwavering, "I wish I could have spent more time with you."_

 _The sorrow that was always apparent, dormant in her chest, surged up again. She reached a hand out, feeling herself shiver when her mother touched it with her own._

" _But I...I thought I couldn't change anything. And I...I tried." Short of splitting herself further she couldn't see what else she could have done. She became more agitated by the second, consumed by her grief and guilt, what felt like a lifetime's worth, now doubled. "But I couldn't, and...I should have saved you and I didn't. Oh, Mum..."_

 _She was pulled nearer, her mother's arms circling around her._

" _Alex," she whispered against her hair. Her mother was the exact same age as she was now, in this different existence, cradling her as though she were still eight years old. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said."_

" _It's okay," Alex affirmed through tears. "I forgive you."_

 _She pulled back, pressing her hands against Alex's face. "But you don't, really. Not for everything."_

 _She felt as though she were eight again, discovering the secret instead of living a lie._

" _I understand," she said, which they both knew was not the same thing. "And I'm sorry. You stayed for me. If it wasn't for me, you could have left him."_

 _Whatever way I look at it, she died because of me._

 _Her mother shook her head fiercely. "I loved you. I would have always chosen you. There was never any other option."_

 _Even now, in this vivid illusion, Alex's heart swelled. All of her life spent wondering; it had been such a waste of time and energy._

 _Through her smile a wave of sadness came, which Alex mistook at first. "I wanted better for you. Not to feel the same way as I did. Feeling torn in two. Always having a missing piece."_

" _Like mother, like daughter," Alex laughed bitterly, looking away in guilt and pain. Still, she could feel her mother's eyes upon her, burning in empathy. Not in judgment. "You should have chosen Evan. Then you'd still be alive."_

" _I wouldn't be so sure about that," she replied, as if she had visionary knowledge. "And it might have been a stroke of luck, but you were safe. I did the right thing, for you, and that's why I can be at peace."_

 _Apparently she was the one fixated on the charmed life that her mother could have had._

 _Her hand prodded gently, bringing Alex's gaze upwards. Bringing her face to face with the truth._

" _I know that a part of your heart will always be broken. And I don't promise that it'll be easy. But you'll learn to live with it, and so will he."_

 _Her stomach twisted and turned, the way it always did when she thought about leaving Gene._

" _You know that it's for the best. A daughter shouldn't be without her mother, not when it can be avoided."_

 _Alex nodded. Being with her mother made the pull towards Molly stronger than ever. She missed her so much. She missed them both._

" _I know," she answered. Someone was always going to have to lose. She still hated herself for it, knowing that she was going to cause such damage, perhaps irreparable. "But I don't know how to get home. At least not on my own."_

" _You'll find a way." She smiled easily again, running a hand down Alex's arm and settling her head back down upon the pillow. "Believe me."_

 _Before her eyes closed again, her mother was gone._

 _There had been no time to say goodbye._

* * *

The room was still in darkness when she woke, rubbing the back of her hand over one eye. Not much past half four. There was a conspicuous vacancy to the side of her and she rolled onto her back, her palm tracing the sheets and the place where he had lain.

He had definitely been there; she remembered his body against her back, his arms around her. It had been the same protective and instinctive gesture at first and then his grip had become tighter, she woke and felt herself being pulled towards him.

In the quiet of the night she could hear him murmuring against her skin, calling out her name. He must have been having a dream; good or bad she couldn't seem to tell.

Being alone unsettled her. Of course it had been the norm before and she'd have to get used to it again. Molly was too old to be clambering in, snuggling up next to her after she'd had a nightmare. Perhaps it would be okay, just after she got back home properly and only for a little while.

She sat up, her back against the uncomfortable headboard and the sheets bunched around her, the satin too cold against her skin. Flicking on the lamp at the bedside she reached for the book that happened to be lying there but didn't even open it before Gene emerged, stumbling back from the bathroom. He'd put on his vest as well as his boxers and Alex felt rather disappointed at the fact, even if sex wasn't the primary thing on either of their minds at the moment. The tatty oversized t-shirt she wore herself didn't exactly speak of flaming passion lying in wait.

She smiled warmly towards him though he would have only seen it for a second at most, sitting with his back to her on the end of the bed.

" 'ad to go and 'ave a smoke," he muttered, though she could smell it on him as she crawled nearer, drawn to him like a magnet, "I left the window open."

She rested her chin on one broad shoulder, flung an arm round the other, thinking that on this occasion she wouldn't have especially minded if he'd lit up right next to her.

"You been awake for long?" she asked, her voice soft and soothing, placating in much the same way as when she used to lull and calm Molly from a night terror.

 _I know that you were dreaming about something_ , was what she really wanted to say. She could feel how tense he was by the way his frame was bunched, a thousand fraying knots lying beneath her fingers.

"Don't feel like I've slept for weeks. Too much goin' on, and none of it makes the least bit of bleedin' sense."

Everything lay so heavy upon him, all the responsibility not just for his team or their patch but the city as a whole. She thought that if he were able he'd want to ensure that the entire world was under his watch. It was far too much for one man to deal with, yet she'd never known anyone to be so absolutely determined. He'd told her before, on another night much the same as this one, and she'd hated hearing it, feeling an unexplainable recognition in her blood.

 _This job's goin' to kill me one of these days._

She threw her other arm around him too, her hand lying above his heart. "It'll be alright."

As he turned his head she kissed his neck, nuzzled her nose against him, the scent of cigarette smoke not even the most prominent. She wanted to promise more but couldn't bring herself to do so, too scared of both of them using it against her in the long run. She just wanted to be absorbed by this moment, more intimate than anything she'd ever experienced.

There was a heavy huff of breath before he replied, one hand moving to cover hers. He felt so detached that he probably didn't even realise he was doing so.

"Will it, Bols?"

She nodded her head, causing her lips to stutter against his skin as she nestled further. She expected that he would have stopped her by now, feeling too claustrophobic and fawned over.

Maybe he needed the comfort as much as she did. It wasn't like him to doubt, after all.

Out of all of the interruptions she welcomed this one the least, but she supposed she was impressed by his persistence.

 _Love does strange things to a man...makes him weak._

 _Shows how much you know_ , she answered back within her head, _strikes me that he's stronger than ever._ She had laid the foundations, perhaps, but she couldn't lay claim to crafting his emotions for him. A lion complete with the last component of courage.

One last case before she'd leave him, she hesitated to say a _better_ man as she knew it had always been within him. Those red shoes would take her home soon enough, but a few more nights wouldn't go amiss.

"Come on," she coaxed him gently, her other hand slipping beneath the hem of his vest, the contact she had been craving all night curving her lips at the corners, "let's forget about it while we can."

He frowned for a moment and then caught her lips with his, softly. A couple of kisses and then he pulled her hand away from him, manoeuvred himself to stand. His eyes held promise, though, assuring her that he wouldn't desert her; the same as always.

"Gunna close that window first," he said, making his way back into the darker half of the room, "the last thing I need is you catchin' a bloody cold."

She smiled as she lay back down upon the pillow. _No chance of that. I feel so much better now_. Still tired though, which was hardly shocking considering the day she'd had.

Once he was back beside her, planting a quick kiss to the back of her neck and placing his arms around her again, she closed her eyes.

 _There's time enough yet. Time to forget, and then remember, clearer than before._

 _I'll find a way._

 _I have to._

* * *

 **A/N: Time (Clock Of The Heart) written and performed by Culture Club.**

 **(FYI, I do have a bit of a kink for Alex being Gene's rescuer *and* his nurse-maid...)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Credit to Mark Greig for the 2.7 dialogue, which I've added into with my own twists...rating has also been bumped up, you'll see why towards the end.**

* * *

 _Chapter 7_

The beat of her heart hadn't yet slowed down; she could feel it pounding in her throat, sheer adrenaline carrying her forward. _So close,_ the target within the nearest reach. She didn't need to close her eyes to see him, staring him down as his words became silent to her ears. Every second in that interview room had been a reckoning.

 _Never mind Lafferty. I know that you're behind this. I know what you're doing, what you're capable of, and I will expose you._

The images came back in a rush. The home that she had known so well, the young policeman with the intention to invade and bring everything to an end. If they let him go then he'd only retrace his steps and, this time, leave behind the previous hesitation. She could not let that happen. She had to go on living within her own existence.

She followed Gene back into CID, her mind racing in competition with the thudding in her chest.

 _It's a matter of time. I just need to be patient, find a way in, a chink in the armour._

Her strides came to an abrupt halt as Gene stopped in the centre of the room, gaze focused not on her only inches away from him but out to the rest of the team.

"Chris, Ray, I want you to bring in all the Polaks workin' on Lafferty's site."

A sickening rush seized her. _No, this can't be happening. Not him._

"What? Why?" She found her voice, though it sounded less measured than she hoped. "You're not falling for Summers' story, are you?"

His eyes settled back on her; to her alarm they appeared unreadable.

"Not fallin' for anythin'," he replied, his tone similarly hard and disinterested. "Still got a murder to solve."

She wanted to be able to touch him, felt in some foolish way that it would have some impact, bring him around to her way of thinking. _If you knew what I knew, there would be nothing down for Summers._

At this very moment she couldn't be certain that he wouldn't push her away.

"Guv," she said instead, taking a safer tack in persuasion, "he is spinning you a line." His expression shifted minimally. She needed to go carefully, choose her words wisely. "I just...I can't work out his angle yet. I need more time."

The voice of his older incarnation was in her mind, waiting to taunt her.

 _But time's running out, Alex._

"And I need you to start makin' sense, if that's not too much of a stretch for you."

She didn't know what she expected; the benefit of the doubt, at the very least. They were on a different level now. The trust between them was supposed to be the most important thing; God knows he was so keen to remind her of that. Apparently it was one rule for him and another entirely for her. He was blind-sided by the need to get a 'win' by any means possible, even if the wrong person went down. It wasn't him; he always did the right thing, she knew it, even with all of her initial misgivings.

"Why are you so obsessed with bad-mouthin' one of the few decent cops left in the Met?" He had turned to her fully, almost shouting into her face. "I see meself in 'im, when I was that age. If I thought things were shit back then, they're even worse now. We're doin' him a bloody disservice by treatin' him like the rest, Bolly."

Even hearing that started another fracture in her heart. _People aren't always what they seem on the surface._ "Because he sounds too good to be true."

She could find no compassion in his eyes, at least not for her. "What he sounds like is an honest copper who's 'ad enough of all the bullshit that we've been wadin' through since Mac. And right now, we need a damn sight more of those."

He fixed her with a final condemning look and then he was turning, heading for the front desk. There was little point in trailing him; he clearly wasn't going to listen to reason, but it seemed to be a compulsion.

"Viv, walk down to Room 2 and tell PC Summers that 'e's free to go. Not before givin' him a cuppa and a few biscuits for 'is troubles."

"Hang on, Viv." The Skip looked between the two of them, unsure which way to turn. "Guv, you have to trust me on this. Summers isn't giving us the whole story. I know it."

Her eyes were imploring, begging to let him know the truth though she wasn't sure just where to start.

"You know, Drake, the joke isn't funny anymore." His stare was steel, cold and impenetrable, causing her body temperature to feel like it was plummeting. "I say black, you say white, even when it comes to the bloody ace of spades. It's as though you're tryin' to prove a point."

He stopped to let her bat back, caught off-step when she remained silent. She saw his throat bob, his fists balling tighter in his pockets.

"And sometimes I have to wonder, especially when you're actin' like this, takin' against a good copper..."

She should have prepared herself for what was coming, could have finished his sentence for him. It was like a shot ripping right through her gut.

"...I wonder whose side you're really on."

She shook her head, crushing sorrow overcoming the anger that swelled within. His armour wasn't infallible; she could see the hurt in his eyes, hidden away in a place that he mistakenly thought she couldn't get to, trying to prove to her and himself that he was a hard bastard that nothing or nobody could touch. She hated Summers, both versions, for doing what she had believed was impossible.

"I'm on your side," she said, hating herself for sounding so weak and diminished, hating Gene for being so easily taken in and making her out to be the betrayer. Loving him, because apparently there was no way for her to stop.

His mouth was set; she could have sworn that he was going to reach out and grab her, and she was scared of how she would react.

"Start bloody well showin' me, then," he uttered, his hands remaining buried in his pockets. "Summers is walkin' out of here on my say so."

She nodded, her throat constricted, watching as he walked away from her and entered back into CID with a crash of the doors, taking his anger out on them instead.

 _Time is running out. The chance is slipping away._

Back at her desk after a detour to the ladies' to sob in private she did her utmost to put on a show, reaching for the files she had pulled and smiling at Shaz as she offered a cup of tea. She told herself not to care that Gene didn't emerge from behind the door of his office, steadily built back her conviction that she could do it, even if it was going to be on her own.

Her phone rang, startling her slightly as she was absorbed by her thoughts.

A moment of silence followed her announcement of her title; she was left with no doubt of who was on the other end.

"Oh dear. Trouble in paradise?" The older Summers chuckled down the line as she watched his younger self through the doors, shaking Viv's hand. "I know what will cheer you up."

She stayed silent, not wanting to give him any kind of satisfaction.

"Tonight," he continued, "I'll let you in on everything. What's going on, and how you can get back."

"Why should I..." she started, hating that she was actually considering this.

"Because right now, you don't have a lot of choice," his voice was harsh to her ear, "if Hunt won't believe you then you're on a downward spiral. I'm giving you the chance to get back up."

She looked over again to Gene's office, not a sign of life making itself known within.

"I don't know why I'm doing this."

He laughed again. "I do."

 _Please. Please, Gene. Just...believe me._

"It's a date then, Alex."

* * *

The freezing air penetrated her jacket, and it was so dark that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Coming here – the site of their current investigation, where she had been only hours previously – was a very bad idea. Yet something was compelling her to remain. Summers had to be behind this whole case, her thinking hadn't changed. So meeting him face to face, now that everything was hanging by the finest of threads, was important. If she did it on his terms, played along with his game for the time being, then it would prove all the sweeter when she turned the tables.

Out of the silence she heard footsteps, a clattering of something on the ground beneath her feet, and her breath sealed itself up inside her lungs.

 _If he knew that I was here...oh, don't think about him. He's made his stance very clear._

 _You have to do this by yourself._

The shadows dissipated in part and she felt completely thrown off balance by who she found standing in front of her. He looked as confused as she did, taking a step or two backwards.

"What are you doing here?"

 _Do you honestly have to ask? It's obvious that they're in cahoots._

The younger Summers remained where he was, frozen to the spot. She could see his breath on the air as he made to answer.

"I got a message to meet someone here...I'm guessing it wasn't the only one."

He seemed genuine and, perhaps against her better judgment, she trusted that he was just as clueless as she was. _It's the older Summers. He's the one pulling the strings. Gene believes in this Summers because he is telling the truth. But then, how...?_

The theory didn't make a lot of sense, but neither had much up to this point.

"What did they say to you?" His tone changed, became more interrogatory than inquisitive. She noted it being interesting that he chose not to identify the gender of this person in question.

"Not much. Just the time and the place."

Her limbs felt tight, the flow of blood constricted. Young Summers looked at her as though he was aware she was choosing not to say everything. _Go carefully, Alex. You need to get him on side._

"Martin," she began tentatively, her own breath misting in front of her, "can I call you Martin?"

There was an interminable moment of silence before he nodded towards her.

"I think we're in the same boat here." She curved her mouth into a soft, reassuring smile. Her insides wouldn't stop jittering. "You've been such a help with the investigation. Really, I think we're onto something with Lafferty. But now...now I need you to help me. I'm trying to track someone down, and I think that you can tell me...before time runs out."

"I came to you in confidence," he replied, his voice shaking. _Evading the question, not uncommon by any means._ "Your DCI...he said it wouldn't go any further."

"And it won't," she was quick to say – perhaps a little too much. "This is a separate thing. DCI Hunt doesn't know anything about it."

The guilt gnawed at her, but it was too late for turning back. She had to do it this way and before she left – if she was granted the chance to – then she would tell him. Everything.

"Anything you say is safe with me. I promise."

His posture relaxed and she could have breathed a sigh of relief, if it hadn't given her away. At least she was still good at this when everything else was turning to dust around her.

"I know that you're being blackmailed," she went on, confident enough that she had gained his trust. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. If you knew how many others have been put in the same position..."

"Why me, though? What have I done to deserve this?"

She couldn't answer him or say anything to get rid of the desperate and helpless look in his eyes.

"I only wanted to do my job. To do the right thing..." His voice was close to cracking and his distress was visible. She felt awful for having such suspicions against him, although they seemed entirely justified at the time.

"I know," she said, keeping her voice calm and soft, "I know you do. And you still have a choice."

He sniffed loudly, incredulously. "Do I?"

"Yes. You don't have to listen to them. You can take a stand."

"It's not that easy."

She nodded, in absence of saying that she could understand. "Whoever it is, they know that it isn't right and that they're using you. Lafferty, your superior officer." Her breath suspended before she spoke her next, heart holding still within her chest. "The man who told you to come here tonight."

He looked her square in the eyes, and any doubt that she might have had was erased.

"I can't..." he began, shifting on his feet and avoiding her gaze again, "you don't understand."

"I think I do." _I understand better than anyone_. "He doesn't have power over you, no matter what he says. You are your own person, you make your own decisions. Even if you feel like you have nowhere to turn, you do."

His chin was down, his arms folded. He looked much younger than his years, and her patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Alex Price," she said, her voice echoing into the void and around her head, "Evan White. Do those names mean anything to you?"

 _I know that they do_.

She stared at him, her nerve unwavering. This was her life on the line and she was not going to surrender it for the sake of sparing someone else's feelings.

"Oh god," he uttered, finally, voice nothing but a whisper. Glancing down she could see that his hands were shaking, the right even more so than the left. "Look, I don't know why...why he wants...I don't even know how he got hold of me."

The lump in her throat was too large to swallow away; she couldn't help but think of her younger self, knees tucked against her chest as she sat upon her bedroom floor, doing her best to push the fear far away.

"Turning a blind eye is one thing. Drugs, taking backhanders...I'm not proud of myself and I know it got out of hand. But I'm trying to change, to put right my mistakes." He sounded sincere. "One day out of the blue I get this call. It was like I was speaking to my da. He said that he could help me turn things around, that I'd have a better future ahead of me. I just had to do this one thing."

She had to fight hard to stop the tears from streaming. _You could have said no. You should have said no, Martin._

Sobs had started to escape his throat. "I went three times to the house. The last just after I'd gone to see your DCI Hunt. He'd called, saying I had to do it, that time was running out. And I got as far as the door, but I couldn't. I can't murder in cold blood. And not a little girl."

She felt wetness upon her cheek as the young Summers wept in front of her.

"I mean...am I that much of a monster? I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted this, I swear."

"No," she told him, her voice trembling. _You have to hold it together._ The tears had stopped from both of them, evaporated in the cold night air. "You may not believe it but you do have a choice. You know what I would do, if I were you?"

He shook his head, his eyes red-rimmed in the moonlight.

"I would get as far away from here as possible. Leave the police force behind, everything. There must be something else that you'd like to do."

He shrugged. "I've never really thought about anything else. I wouldn't have to change my name too, would I?"

She smiled, choosing not to answer directly. "Consider it, please. There's a whole world out there that you aren't even aware of."

The noise of applause emerged from the darkness, breaking the moment and the trust that had been so carefully fostered by her.

"What a speech. I think that it's you who should consider the change in profession, Alex. Although I see where you're coming from. Just a shame that it's not going to work."

The older Summers stepped more fully into the light, confronting his younger self as she watched on in disbelief.

"Martin Summers," he held his hand out to the lad, who grasped it with some hesitancy, "we meet at last."

"But that's..." the younger Summers began, looking towards Alex as though she might have the answer. Instead she could do nothing but stare at the scene before her, shellshocked.

"What? You expected us to disappear in a puff of smoke?" The older Summers addressed Alex whilst he stayed shaking the other Summers' hand. "Matter meets anti-matter? Time imploding on itself, that sort of thing?"

"Who are you?" the younger Summers asked.

"Can't see the resemblance," Summers joked to Alex, and then turned his gaze back towards the lad in front of him. "I'm you, son."

The younger Summers was dumbfounded, quite understandably.

"You set this whole thing up," Alex said to the older Summers, "the drug drop, the body, everything. Everything. You knew it would be here."

 _And you blackmailed him to kill me._

"Very good. You are getting this, after all."

"It's him," the younger Summers regained the power of speech, his eyes flashing at Alex, "he's the one you're looking for."

"Well, you have been getting cosy," Summers sneered with a smirk, "but I think I probably am."

God, what was she doing, getting drawn into this? She was playing with fire, and it was no mistake.

"You can't do this. I mean, you can't change history."

"Will you listen to that?" he turned towards the younger version of himself, "After everything she's just told you about getting away, starting again. You sure about that, Alex?"

"I'm sorry," she said in a wavering tone to the younger Summers, before turning to face the other. "I mean, this is the place where you find out how things really were. You get an insight into yourself, into your life, but you can't change things. Things still happen exactly as they were going to happen."

The flames, the smoke, the air turning black before her eyes. A rescuer taking her small hand.

 _She'd tried so hard, but it had made no difference._

"Hmmm, I don't think you're right there, sweetheart."

In the space of a second Summers pulled a gun from his inside pocket, shooting his younger self clean in the head. There was a sickening thud as the constable's body slumped in a heap to the ground.

"Oh my god," Alex breathed, horrified by the satisfied glint in Summers' eyes.

"Why be good, when the bad guys have so much fun?" His smile gleamed towards her, his gloved hands loosening upon the gun. "Couldn't even take orders properly. Not fit to wear the uniform. All for the best."

Everything was telling her to run but she was fixed firmly in place, completely paralysed.

"But...I don't..." she stuttered, unable to make any sense of it. He'd told her that it was entirely possible, but how could he possibly know?

He moved closer towards her, the lopsided smile moving higher upon his mouth.

"You know, I think I dismissed the option too easily. You are a very attractive woman, Alex."

His body pressed against hers, head angling towards hers as she shouted out, struggled to get away. It wasn't their lips that met but their hands instead, and she stared down towards the warm metal that he'd pressed into her palm.

"This is a bit of a problem, now," he said, almost whispering into her ear, his breath hot and unpleasant on her face. "Man's dead. Gun that killed him is in your hand. Complicates things rather, doesn't it?"

Her eyes were wide as she looked back up at him, her head shaking.

"You'd better sort this out, because you can't go home until you do. And I'll be keeping an eye on your friend Evan in the meantime. Bye now."

He walked back into the shadows, leaving her shaken to the core. Somehow she found the wherewithal to stuff the gun inside of her jacket and proceeded to drag the younger Summers across the site. As the cement poured down onto his body she muttered a mantra of apology, unable to get past the fact that this was her fault, too.

The cold seeped from inside her clothes straight to her bones.

* * *

She retreated to the empty offices of CID, heading straight for the ladies' on autopilot. She knew that she needed to be practical, methodical – modes that she had been so used to before – but she was unable to silence that part of her which had become perpetually bent to the emotional. Her heart hammered heavier than before and bile rose in her throat as she took the gun out of her jacket, holding it almost at arms' length as the tap ran. She allowed herself a small sob and then steeled herself, cleaning it thoroughly. She knew that she wouldn't be able to eradicate her fingerprints completely but she did what she could.

The thought blared in her head. _You may as well have killed him. You brought him there in the first place._ She didn't think she'd ever be at peace again, even if she made it back.

She splashed the same cold water as she had used to rinse the gun upon her face, gasping at the shock of it – far less than the shock she had felt witnessing Summers shoot his younger self point-blank – washing away the tears that had made her eyes pinched and sore.

Turning off the tap blindly she raised her head to look at herself in the smeared glass of the mirror, and got the biggest fright when she glimpsed her daughter captured there, standing at her back.

"I'm so sorry, Molls," she choked out, feeling hot tears well once more. "I'm so very sorry."

She stowed the gun in the bottom drawer of her desk, not wanting to look at it ever again. Part of her felt the urge to sit down upon the floor, curl herself into a ball and wait for morning to come. Instead she made her way to Gene's office, heading towards his desk and opening the bottom drawer. She took a couple of large swigs from the bottle that was inside, thinking that it couldn't be spared but not convinced that he'd notice, either. And she needed it.

 _You need him._ Her eyes shut tight as the whisky burned her throat almost to the point of rawness. _If he knew what I've been a part of...oh God._

She stashed the bottle back in its place of safety, gave herself a little time to regroup before she crumpled completely.

He was the first and last person that she needed to see, looking awkward as he sat upon the staircase that led up to her flat. She should have had an idea; he had been with her every night after Riley's lackeys had broken in, even when she was pissed off with him.

His head rose to look at her, his eyes surprisingly clear and brilliantly blue. Her heart lurched within her chest as she imagined a million and one different scenarios, none of which ended happily.

"You 'ave a better offer, Bols?" he slurred slightly, his speech giving greater evidence of the drink he must have put away.

She shook her head as she made to ascend. "I can't believe you would think...get out of my way, Gene."

"No," he said, his hand circling around her ankle. " 'm your superior, you don' tell me what to do." With his other hand he patted against his trouser pocket. "Need to get a bloody key...been 'ere for hours."

"Let go of me." She flexed her ankle against his strong grip, being perilously close to kicking him in the stomach.

He clambered up, following her up the stairs, the thud of his feet heavy. "Bolly."

"You need to apologise to me," she said, turning to look him in the face as they both got to the door, doing everything she could to keep her expression as hard as his had been hours earlier. She still felt wounded, a big part of why she had caved and agreed to meet Summers once and for all down to the way he had belittled her.

But she couldn't put the blame onto him. _This is your mess and you're the one that needs to sort it._

He stared at her for what felt like an age, before stuttering out a laugh. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, nowhere near as repulsed by it as she had been by that of Summers when she had been certain he was going to forcibly kiss her.

"Me, apologise to you? I'm not the one with a bloody vendetta and their kecks in so much of a twist that they're bunched up me arse."

She had to look away from his eyes, not ready to admit that she had been wrong, at least in some respects. The image of PC Summers' lifeless face was burned onto her brain and she was crawling out of her skin, wanting desperately to be rid of it.

"You humiliated me." Her voice was dangerously near to cracking, giving everything about this night from hell away.

"It was only Viv. He's seen much worse."

She laughed, the sound strange in her throat. He was looking her over obsessively, almost invasively.

"That's not the point," she said, attempting to move out of his shadow. "I...I can't believe you'd think that of me. Despite what you might believe I'm not a cold bitch who can turn her feelings on and off on command."

How she wished that was the case right now.

She looked him in the eyes again, the pain searing through her chest and almost making her double over.

"I care what you think of me, Gene. More than anyone else. And you should know that I would never go against you."

 _At least not willingly_.

"Never."

He stayed in place, watching her eyes as they filled again, seeming just as clumsy as he had done moments before sitting in wait for her. She wished he would hold her and yet didn't think she could bear it, feeling too tainted.

"Bols..." he moved forward with her, bracing a hand against the doorframe as she opened the door.

"I'm not letting you inside until you say you're sorry."

She thought that he was giving it some serious thought, at least for a couple of seconds.

"You'll 'ave a long bloody wait."

 _Of course. Stubborn bastard._ He didn't even know what had happened, and yet he was still pushing her aside, unable to handle what she felt.

"Goodnight, Gene."

She slammed the door behind her, his face a temporary replacement in her mind as she went further inside, feeling utterly wretched.

She should have headed straight for bed instead of going to the cupboard, reaching for the bottle of wine. Her fingers fumbled and she swore as she struggled to prise it open, slamming it down against the counter in frustration, one hand going to her forehead. Biting down upon her lip she promised herself that she wouldn't cry any more tonight. Tomorrow would be a new day, and with any luck the demons would give her some respite.

The knock on the door felt as though it was pounding directly against her temples. She stared towards it for a couple of minutes and then made her way over, hearing him call out the affectionate name.

"Bolly. Open the bloody door."

She hesitated, still mad at him; a thousand different emotions rushing round her head.

There was a half-defiant pout upon his face, at war with the softer look that lay within his eyes, which he'd crucify anyone without a moment's hesitation if they ever found out just what a soft touch he could be. She had an idea that he would have set up camp there for the night if she repeated her previous actions and knew that she wouldn't have been able to rest.

"So?" she questioned, her lips pursing.

"Er, well...I shouldn't 'ave said some of what I said." He looked at her in the eyes before glancing away, shuffling on his feet. "But you were still bein' a royal pain in the arse."

She scoffed, shaking her head. At this point in time it was as good as she was going to get.

"Well?" he exclaimed, meeting her gaze again. "I'm not gunna stay out 'ere all night."

 _Liar._ "You could just go home."

"I forgot to pay the leccy. Don't want to freeze me knackers off."

She didn't believe him for a second, but extended her arm anyway. His fingers linked tight with hers, palms kissing as she pulled him inside, surprised that she still possessed the strength.

Not more than a few seconds passed between her closing the door behind them and her mouth crashing upon his, pinning him against the door and pressing her body into his. Her hands went to his hair and his rested upon the cheeks of her arse, though he pulled his head away too soon for her liking.

"Blimey, Bols," he rasped, "what's all this about?"

Her lips already felt pleasantly bruised as she twisted them into a smile. "We've had the fight, now it's time for the kissing..." Her lips were back on his, her mouth opening to allow his tongue to slip inside. She let out a moan, trailing her hands from his neck to his chest, breaking away and catching her breath. "...and making up."

Her fingers worked nimbly as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders and freed the buttons on his shirt, pulling her own top over her head. She started on his belt, hearing him groan as she thrust her hips forward, feeling the heat and rigidity at the front of his trousers.

"Try'na break the world record?" he asked, his fingers barely brushing her shoulders.

She leant back, feeling off-balance and suddenly solemn.

"Don't you want me, Gene?"

She could have looked anywhere, at his bare chest beneath his open shirt or the trousers that were halfway down his hips, but instead chose to take in his face, watching keenly as he gulped and the colour of his eyes changed shade just perceptibly.

"Course I do, Bols."

It was all the reassurance she needed, and she smiled, murmuring as he hooked a finger underneath each bra strap, his head dipping down and his lips feasting on her neck.

They were almost completely naked by the time they made it to her bedroom, only needing to dispose with knickers and boxers respectively. Alex pushed Gene down onto the bed, doing the honours for the both of them, the wave of desire surging up through her as she got on her knees, taking him into her palm.

"Bolly," he groaned, his head lolling back as her fingers stroked, "Jesus Christ..."

Both of them sobered up in an instant as she guided him, meeting him halfway as she lowered her hips and sunk down. Her gasp was almost so high as not to be heard as she felt him filling her, registered his hands caressing her skin, hardly staying in one place than longer for a few seconds.

She needed this, needed him, to take everything away. Days and weeks rather than only minutes and hours. Her eyes closed so that she could focus, think of nothing other than how they felt together, her hips working faster and his thrusts harder – she thought that she heard herself pleading for that, above the creaking of the bed and the sounds he was making.

Things were receding, she could believe that the world belonged to them and them alone. Nothing bad would happen as long as he was with her.

It was going to happen soon, she didn't want it to end. She felt his hand edge up, exactly where she needed him to be, tipping her over the edge even though she wanted to hold on tight.

Everything became a blur, her body felt like it didn't belong to her. She had broken apart blissfully, her head tipped back, her heart almost beating out of her chest. His hands were soothing her back to earth, his voice putting her back onto the natural frequency.

"Bloody hell, Bols," he said against her shoulder as she settled down onto the bed next to him, "that was the last thing I was expectin'."

She murmured something indistinguishable in reply, pulled his arm tighter around her waist as he covered them both with the bedsheet.

He held her even as he drifted off to sleep, the huffs of his breath on the back of her neck. After a little while she started to cry again though the sound wouldn't emerge from her throat, the tears trailing unseen upon her cheeks. It was amazing, but it hadn't been enough; in the darkness of the room the shadows from the back of her mind crept closer.

She had never wanted to go home more than she did right now.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Still sticking with 2.7 in this chapter - although Alex is in a whole different dimension when we start off...**

* * *

 _Chapter 8_

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

 _Open your eyes, Alex._

 _The voice that was clear and persistent in her ears faded further into the distance, touch becoming dominant over sound. She felt a hand in hers, squeezing her fingers. It took all her might but she managed to flex her own fingers enough to squeeze back._

" _Alex. Oh, that's it. That's my girl..."_

 _Her eyes blinked open slowly and she saw her mother's face in front of her. Behind where she sat, by the side of the bed, was a curtain covered with multi-coloured stars and the faces of teddy bears._

 _Her mother smiled towards her, reached out her other hand to stroke her forehead gently._

" _Do you remember what happened?"_

 _She thought that she did, vaguely, but the memory was hazy. She shook her head lightly instead of speaking._

" _You were riding, and you were doing so well. But then Buttercup bolted and you took a tumble." Her mother rubbed her head with a little more pressure and she was aware of the bump that had swelled there. "Quite a big one."_

 _Yes, she remembered it now. Her first and last time going horse riding. Her mother had wanted her to persist afterwards, to show some determination and bravery, but she had been too scared by the fall and clung to her father's hand whenever the matter was discussed. He raised her up, sat her upon his lap and held her tight, telling her that it was perfectly alright that she never wanted to go back again._

" _The doctors don't think it's anything bad. A bit of concussion." She always used the proper words, even when it was too much for her child's mind to comprehend. "Another night here, just to be on the safe side, and you'll be as right as rain. You gave me a fright, Alexandra."_

 _She was only ever called that when she'd done something to disappoint, and though it wasn't her fault she felt the guilt gathering up within her. She wished that her father was there instead._

" _I want to go home now," she murmured, her mother looking at her with some disapproval. "Please, can I go home?"_

" _Not yet," her mother answered, moving her hand down to edge against her cheek, "but soon."_

 _You're doing so well, Alex. Keep going, that little bit more, and you'll be there._

 _Her hands gripped onto the bed at either side of her, the pain so intense it was like she was being ripped in two. She wanted to move, get onto her knees – anything to relieve the agony to some degree – but nearly every part of her was paralysed._

 _She'd lost count of the hours, but was certain that it had been longer than a day. They'd gone to the hospital in the early hours of the morning and it had been as muggy and humid then as it would have been in the middle of the afternoon. It was so hot, unbearable; her head and her spine were drenched with sweat. She could barely open her eyes, her jaw gritting so tight she would have been scared she was going to cause herself irreparable damage, if she could get past the bloody pain._

" _I can't," she managed to get out, breath tight in her chest, "it's too much, I can't."_

 _She felt a cool and comforting hand against her damp brow, the voice of her midwife soothing and encouraging her._

" _Yes, you can, Alex. You're so close now, one more big push and that's all it will take."_

 _She leaned back against the pillows, the pain abating to some degree before building back up again, wielding power over her entire being. Both her body and the midwife were telling her to push but she relented for a few moments, looking over to where he was standing in the corner of the room, chewing on his nails and appearing absolutely petrified._

" _Pete," she murmured, extending an arm out into the air. She didn't have enough strength to do this on her own, she'd used everything she had. She needed him._

 _He was reluctant at first, and it took a piercing scream erupting from her for him to come through and take her hand into his own. She smiled weakly, looking into his eyes, before she could no longer hold off._

" _Bloody hell, Lex," she heard him stutter as she grasped onto his hand like a vice, "not so hard, hey?"_

 _She ignored his request, clinging tight to him and crying out, pushing and pushing until the pain ceased. It continued on, for weeks rather than days, and he wasn't best pleased when she asked if he could leave her alone, please, as she cradled their baby daughter in her arms. Molly with all of her perfection fast became her biggest comfort._

 _A wailing cry became an echo from her own, filling the room as she slumped back on the bed, her fingers slipping from those of her husband._

" _Congratulations, Alex," the midwife said happily, "you've got a little girl."_

 _The operation was a success. Now you build up that strength a little more, Alex, and then you can return properly._

 _She wanted to be awake so badly. Every fibre in her body and synapse in her brain had sparked back to life, and now she was in limbo, waiting. For what, she didn't know. The bullet was out, there hadn't been any complications. She should be awake, back, smiling at her little girl, grown so much in the seamless space of time that she had been away._

" _Surely you don't believe that you're going to wake up just because they managed to get the bullet out?"_

 _Summers. Haunting her everywhere she went. Awake and dreaming. Alive, and..._

 _No. Please, no. I can't be._

" _What do I have to do?" she asked, hearing the beeping of the monitor at her bedside. She could hear Molly's voice too, very faint in the background._

 _An unbearably long pause before he gave her an answer._

" _You have to work, Alex..."_

 _Female, mid-thirties. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. She's lost a lot of blood._

 _This was on her person. A police officer._

 _She was so weak; it felt as though nearly all of the blood had drained from her body, seeping past her hand where she had been unable to stop the flow. It had been such a shock, her defences shutting down immediately; she hadn't been able to look him in the eyes._

 _Stay with us, Alex. We're going to do everything we can._

 _The pain was fading steadily, drifting deeper and deeper, until she felt empty. At peace. She had hurt for so long, years and years; she'd hadn't realised how long it had been until it had finally left her._

" _Jesus Christ, Alex," his voice was in a lower register than she'd ever heard, and she was aware of his remorse. "I never meant for this...stupid bloody bastard."_

 _She felt his fingers brush against her cheek, though it was too brief; she wanted to be able to keep him there, keep him with her. It was so long before he uttered anything else._

" _You look...my God, Bolly."_

 _She didn't know how but she was able to look down upon herself laying in the bed. Her hair had been cropped, a little of it falling over her forehead. Her face was ashen, cheeks hollowed and lips almost grey. She couldn't reach out to touch, but she was glad not to be able, too scared that she would feel nothing._

 _Two voices echoed in her head, speaking to two different versions of herself, prone in their hospital beds._

 _They said the same thing, word for word._

" _You're leaving me when I need you the most."_

 _She felt her heart slow within her chest, readying itself to shatter._

The ringing of the phone woke her up, caused her to breathe in too quickly in compensation. She knew she was alone in the bed, not an uncommon occurrence in the last couple of weeks; it was often the case that Gene would be the first at the station in the morning, driven almost out of his wits at the need to get to the bottom of this case. He was going to burn himself out, and it made her so afraid.

"Yeah," she said, still groggy and shaken by the dreams she had had, one overlaid on top of the other. She knew it would be him on the line.

"Looks like I was right," he replied, proving her own prediction to be correct. "Tomascz was lyin'."

She ran a hand through her hair, pulling herself from the pillow, not ready for this quite yet.

"I'll meet you at the hospital. Intensive care."

* * *

The uneasy feeling remained with her as she moved through the corridors of the hospital, trailing Gene with an uncertain gait. He was far more purposeful, and so they didn't encounter many staff or other visitors on their way. Even so, Alex felt eyes upon her where they were available, staring at her not so much with suspicion but recognition.

She hadn't heard the sound of ticking or beeping machines, nor the few voices that had become as familiar to her as the team in the last few weeks. Just silence. It had been the same when they had gone to see Gaynor Mason not too long ago. She wasn't sure whether she should have been relieved or deeply concerned about the fact.

Still, she didn't like the frequency of ending up here when it came to cases; things were blurring enough as it was. _What do they say, these things come in threes._ Her mind lingered on the recurring dream – she didn't want to term it a premonition. If she thought hard enough about it now she would be able to see the smoking gun held in a leather-clad hand, feel the heat of her own blood as it coated her palm...

Her eyes must have been wide and her face pale as Gene turned to face her just before he made to enter the room that they were after.

"Alright, Bols?" he asked her, the edge of concern clear in his voice for a moment or two. "Dunno what state 'e's goin' to be in. Yer not gunna go all girly on me, are yer?"

She swallowed, shaking her head, desperately trying to rid herself of the images that still revolved there.

"No," she uttered, with more practised assurance, head held back, "let's have a look."

He placed a gloved hand on the handle to the door, and immediately it was clear that Tomascz was in a very bad way indeed. Wires seemed to stream from his person, connecting him to a ventilator that was keeping him alive – for the time being.

"Flamin' Nora," Gene exclaimed, getting nearer to the bedside, "I've seen some sights in my time, but I think this just about takes the prize."

Her eyes fixed to the labourer's bloodied and battered face, almost indistinguishable from the man they had interviewed a couple of days earlier, Alex offered up a silent prayer. To what entity, she wasn't sure.

" 'e's goin' to wish he _had_ shinned back up the Berlin Wall," Gene went on, all of his usual sensitivity in place. "Was hit and run. Should be dead by rights, 'e's a tough bastard."

"So he knew it wasn't a poem," she said, thinking out loud, unable to move her gaze away from Tomascz.

"There's no sign of Summers." The very mention of the name caused prickles to run up her spine. She had done well so far in not showing that anything could be amiss, and she just had to keep it up, while trying her best not to feel guilty about not saying anything. "Both of them put one man in the frame."

"Lafferty," she answered with the same thing he was thinking. "But how would he know that we'd brought Tomascz in?"

His expression was grave; she could see that he was contemplating a notion that he hadn't wanted to give serious credit to. He gestured to her to leave the room and she cast a final glance towards the bed and the prone figure within. Tomascz was a big man, not easy to do away with.

 _This could go in your favour_. The thought was a horribly guilty one, whirling around her head as they stepped back out into the deserted corridor. She did what she could to shake it away, without giving anything off. _Firstly, you did not murder PC Summers._ It was looking likelier that Lafferty had indeed been behind the murder of Dawid and now this with Tomascz, but it didn't mean that he could be pinned for the death of young Summers. He'd be discovered, sooner more probable than earlier. Summers must have wanted to fit up Lafferty, but why? Her brain was working overtime and with the disturbed sleep she had she wanted nothing more than to curl up, but preferably not in a hospital bed.

"Someone in our station told 'im. Probably the same bastard that stole the note." She'd got so tangled up that it took her a few seconds to make any sense of what he was saying. "Someone in CID. Someone on my team."

The shadows cast upon his face, all of the weariness this particular case had trudged up evident in his eyes as well as the unspeakable hurt and betrayal he felt. She shared it – not to the same degree, nobody else was capable of that, but given how close they had become the transference did weigh heavily upon her.

She wanted to say something comforting to him, but nothing seemed good enough.

"You're...you're thinking about Mac?" she said instead, cringing inwardly. _As if there weren't enough spectres to deal with._

His expression hardened, but the haunted, lost look that was in his eyes remained, breaking her heart to behold it. "I'm thinkin' about Mac, about Kevin Hales, about every investigation that's gone tits up as far back as I can remember."

She felt the frown upon her face as she looked at him. _Operation Rose._ There was no going back from it now, they were in too deep. There was still so much to figure out and she could only imagine the vindictive glee that Mac would have derived knowing that everything was very well on the verge of blowing up in their faces while he was safely out of it.

It was a relief to leave the hospital, even if the weight had not lifted completely. Somewhat ironically the Quattro felt like a haven. They could have been driving at a million miles per hour and she would have felt completely safe, all because Gene was in control.

He reached into the compartment, took out one of his many hip-flasks. For a moment or two he let the item rest in his hands, looking into the middle distance. When he did unscrew the top and lift it to his lips he did so for so long that she suspected he was never going to stop.

"Gene," his name was a warning on her lips, her insides seizing up as she watched him. He was drinking far too much of late, even by his standards, and she was petrified where it was going to lead. "Don't you think that's enough?"

He kept on going, head tipped back, and when he stopped she knew it was only because the flask was dry. He wiped the sleeve of his overcoat against his mouth, turned to face her with a determined, half-sated look in his eyes.

"Couldn't bring anythin' in there with me. I think it's only fair, Bols." He paused, and she was wondering where he had stashed the next; it had to be somewhere nearby. " 'sides, it's for the shock."

He gave her a smirk, which rankled her. It was just unfortunate that her concern for his wellbeing took priority over her annoyance.

"I know it hurts you. I can't even begin to imagine." God, her words were so hollow; she really expected to do much better by now. "We'll get to the bottom of it."

"Oh, no doubt about that, Bolly. And that maggoty scrote Lafferty won't know what's hit 'im. Already got a plan brewin'."

She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried, but there wasn't a lot she could do about it. Yet she also knew it wasn't the crux of the matter.

"I pride meself on two things in life, Bols. Bein' a bloody good detective and bein' the leader of the best team this side of the river, if any of those top knobs would give us 'alf the chance."

She gave him a genuine smile. She didn't say it much – if at all – but she was the proudest of being part of this team than any other, as strange as it really was.

He was silent for a while, aside from expelling a heavy sigh. She was aware of the cost, the pain he felt so acutely to say it.

"But I've failed dismally on both counts this time round." He glanced down, examining the hands that were encased within their gloves. "I mean, what good is that, Bolly? Can't smell shit when it's right under me nose."

She felt her face crumple again. Half of her felt so deeply for him, heart-sore for the disloyalty that he did not deserve to be shown. The other half wanted to shake him, let him see that suspicion was a symptom of further disease and not the cure.

"One bad apple doesn't spoil the crop," she assured him, feeling like the biggest hypocrite. "And we don't know what the motive is. Because there has to be one."

"I don't give a stuff about motives, Bols," the anger he was keeping tethered erupted a little more, "one of my own is tellin' me bare-faced lies, and it makes me bloody furious."

Her cheeks flushed, her body reacting despite her brain telling her to behave. Lucky for her his eyes were averted and she was left to temper her shame and atone for her sins by directing the conversation elsewhere. It was a risky tactic, leaving her an open target.

"I haven't exactly been the most supportive DI," she uttered, keeping her voice soft and her eyes pleading. "I'm sorry for doubting PC Summers. It seems like he was telling the truth about Lafferty all along."

He turned his gaze back towards her and she was somewhat overwhelmed by what she found within. Something she couldn't explain in a million years or more, but something that was purely _felt_. A wave of emotion rushed over her; she never wanted to stop looking into those eyes, bluer than the clearest of summer skies.

 _Just kiss me_ , she thought. _Kiss me, and let's forget about all of this, at least for now._

 _If Summers can keep running and getting away with things, why can't I?_

Her thoughts weren't loud enough for him to hear; he parted his lips but to speak instead of what she really desired.

"Can't be whiter than white if 'e's done a runner."

"But, Lafferty..." she began.

"Speculation, Bolly. I mean, if a body turns up then we could nail 'im for good."

Her stomach soured, a sorry change from feeling so pleasant and warm mere moments before.

" 'e did seem a bit shifty, the more I think about it. I mean, what was all that guff about not tellin' anyone?"

She shrugged. "I suppose he didn't want to be seen to be going against his own DCI. Everyone's watching their back, aren't they? Probably even more so now."

"Yeah, maybe." He turned towards the window, hands resting idly against the steering wheel. She ached to do _something_ , an act that would be of use than simply talking them round in the same circles. He sighed again. "I dunno, Bols. I just want to get this sorted, but even then, I don't think it'll be over and done with."

 _No._ She dreaded to think what came next, Summers' face behind her eyes whenever she closed them, laughing at her fate. The fate he seemed to know far more about.

"If there's anything I can do," she said, feeling rather desperate, "any way I can help."

She saw a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. "You just stay by my side. Look pretty."

She smiled herself, knowing how he valued her for so much more.

"Go home, get changed," he continued, "I need you at your best."

Her eyes turned towards him, a twinkle lying within. "Something skimpy?"

He looked back, eyes saying one thing and lips another, even if she suspected he probably wished that they'd agree.

"Best not, Bols, if only for the good of my health. But maybe somethin' underneath. Give me some light at the end of the tunnel."

* * *

The storm had been brewing for so long and with such intensity that Alex imagined that the breaking point would come easy in comparison. And yet she had been proved wrong in so many instances before.

They'd got Lafferty back in, this time with enough evidence to ensure that he wouldn't walk away scot-free. Gene's restraint had been hanging by the thinnest of threads throughout and the interrogation proper had barely begun until he'd pushed Lafferty to the floor while he was still seated, grabbing him by the lapels, placing the sole of a boot firm upon his chest. She had pleaded with him, something in her voice somehow pulling him back from the brink before it had become too late. The pure rage burned in his eyes, Alex blinking back tears as she watched his fists tighten upon Lafferty's collar.

" _But what really makes me want to crush your little cockroach head is that you got to one of mine."_

The cracks had started to show before he had addressed them all about the misappropriation of the note, let everyone know without doubt that there was a traitor in their midst. Now, they were in utter disarray. A couple of nights ago they'd gone to Luigi's later than the rest and arrived to witness a full-on brawl breaking out, with Ray, Chris and Viv in the centre of it. Everyone looked to the Guv to intervene – herself included. Luigi, desperate to stop the massacre of his trattoria, called for his help specifically. Instead of doing as any of them might have expected he cast a look about the scene and turned on his heels towards the door, Alex in pursuit not long after.

She questioned whether it was her fault. She was keeping him away from his team, commanding his attention for herself when she wasn't the only one who needed him. At this moment there didn't seem to be much hope for anything remaining of the world but scraps and shrapnel by the time she made her departure, whenever that would be.

There was one person who would be very pleased by the outcome. His laughter echoed in her head, his reflection staring out from behind her every corner she turned. She knew he was an illusion in that moment – the same as Molly had been in many moments before – but it didn't stop her wanting to smash the mirror that faced her into a thousand pieces. Seven years bad luck would be nothing if it meant getting rid of the spectre of Summers for good.

She went slowly back into CID; as tempting as it was she couldn't hide herself away all evening. At first it seemed like she was the only one there, the rest having headed to Luigi's for the alcohol rather than the company and the door to Gene's office open, revealing the fact that he had gone as well.

The shadow thrown high upon the walls made her nearly jump out of her skin, feeling utterly foolish when she recognised who it was.

"Chris?" she ventured, watching as he sat at his desk, hands clasped together and eyes staring blankly ahead of him. "Are you going to Luigi's?"

She hadn't spoken so low that he wouldn't have heard her; they were the only ones in the room, anyway.

"I...I can't," he eventually replied, whole minutes having passed since she had asked, making her wonder whether she had slipped unknowingly somewhere else.

The heels of her boots echoed loudly from the floor as she moved around to take in his face, the unmistakable evidence of his crying in the form of a reddened nose and puffiness circling his eyes.

"Chris, what's the matter?" she questioned gently. "If it's to do with Shaz then you know as well as I do that whatever it is will be forgotten about after a couple of drinks."

He shook his head against her assurances, heaving in a shuddering breath as his shoulders visibly trembled.

"It'll be over, Ma'am, if I tell 'er. Not that she wouldn't find out anyway. She's so clever, so good...too good for me and what I've done. But I did it for 'er, I swear."

She pulled a seat over towards where he remained, not moving except for the involuntary shaking of his body at his distress.

"Chris, you're not making a lot of sense right now. You need to help me out. If you want me to do something, that is."

He looked up at her after some drawn-out minutes, eyes glossed with tears. She saw him as a boy, lost and deathly afraid, and the transformation tore at her. She glimpsed Molly in the whites of his eyes, on the precipice of confessing something that had happened at school which wasn't her fault but had caused her to feel as though the whole world was ending.

"She doesn't know who I am. Shaz. Nobody does."

A surge shot straight to her heart, nearly jolting her out of the chair. _Summers said they were the only two here. What if he had been lying, or simply unaware of all of the possibilities?_

"It's okay," she reached a hand out, touching the back of his tentatively, "if you want to say, I'm here to listen."

 _This could be the way out._ She could have cried with relief. Not that she would have ever imagined that it could have been Chris who offered it. _Always look out for the unexpected._

The wildness in his gaze gave way to emotions that were more fathomable; sorrow, regret, fear for what was ahead.

She found her grip increasing upon him, his eyes casting down before he began to speak again.

"It was just a loan. I never thought..." he stumbled slightly, taking in and letting out a deep breath to put himself on firmer ground. "It was a bloke Ray knew. He said he couldn't help me, but he pointed me to someone who could. No problem, 'e said. Pay me back when you can. Five hundred."

Her eyes widened as her heart sunk back down, beating more evenly again. She heard Summers' voice again, as pleased as he always was. _Wrong again, Alex. You couldn't seriously think...?_

It hadn't been that much of a stretch, she argued back at him silently. But perhaps she had been too hopeful.

"I know, Ma'am. It's a lot. But I wanted the best. I didn't want to let her down."

Refocusing, Alex looked back into his eyes, nodding her head. Her hand had fallen from his; she pulled it back into her lap, wedging it between her legs.

"I got a call, not too long after. He just said 'e knew I'd do him a favour, this one favour. And I thought, well, fair's fair, and I thought that'd be the end of it. But when 'e said what it was, I knew it wouldn't be." A tear rolled down his cheek, catching upon the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm so sorry."

A wave of nausea washed over her as Chris continued to stare at her, his bottom lip trembling. He brought his sleeve up to his eyes and the way he wiped at his tears with little care made him appear even more boyish than the moments previously.

"If I could go back, I never would 'ave taken the money. Not knowin' what was in store, what I was gettin' into." She could hear the escalation in his tone, watched him as he rose from his seat. "I shouldn't 'ave said anything, I'm sorry..."

Alex rose too, blocked Chris's path before he could leave, his eyes wide and desperate as he looked into hers. It was too late for running away.

"You know that you have to tell him?" she said. "I can't let you leave or say anything more until he's here."

He didn't attempt to argue, just stood helpless and resigned for a few moments, nodding and sniffing back tears before he sat back down. Alex stared at him with pity, held in suspension for moments before she made the move the short distance to the phone at her desk.

"Ma'am?"

Chris's voice stopped her before she could dial Luigi's number, hoping that Gene hadn't gone somewhere else instead, but knowing that she had to get hold of him.

"Tell him that I didn't mean it. That I was goin' to come to him sooner. I should have done. But it's too late now, isn't it?"

Alex bit down on her lip, heart nearing suspension in her chest.

 _I hope it isn't, for all of our sakes._

* * *

He had been crushed when he came back, coming face to face with Chris's guilt-ridden expression. Alex had never seen him look so distraught. Chris couldn't take his eyes from Gene's figure, uttering a quiet 'Guv' which chose to go unrecognised. He beckoned the Detective Constable to the interview room with a gesture of his hand instead and leaned heavily against the wall, letting Alex take the lead. She had little inclination to conduct the interrogation but knew it was her duty, not simply as a Detective Inspector.

The revelations came blow after blow, until she was convinced that nothing but fire and wreckage would be left by the time they left the room. Kevin Hales' prison transfer file. The note from the evidence room. Tomascz's name being passed on. She was wrung out by the time Chris had broken down completely, telling Gene repeatedly that he was sorry. Knowing that it was pointless to plead she watched him leave the room, slamming the door behind him. Surprisingly Chris stopped crying at that point, Alex suspecting that he was resigned to the worst outcome.

"I've still got it, that note. The one from the evidence room." His voice was shaky. "I was supposed to shred it, burn it. But I knew this was something else. Something different."

"Leave it on my desk. It's late, you need to go home." She was drained, unable to focus on anything right now. "The man you called to give Tomascz's name. The man who gave you the money. I'll need you to trace the address."

Chris nodded, getting to his feet. "If the Guv doesn't make it so I never set foot inside 'ere again. Not that I'd blame him."

"I'll deal with the Guv. Just go and get some sleep, Chris."

"But..." he stumbled, letting out a small strained laugh as he looked down to the floor, "Shazza's expecting me."

"It can wait until tomorrow." She felt a little guilty thinking of Shaz but he'd been through enough for one night. "Go, Chris."

Gene was foremost on her mind and she panicked the longer she was kept from following him. She found him not where she expected, holed up in his office with a bottle of whisky in his grasp, but instead leaning against the door to her flat. The bottle was clutched in his hands, so she was half-right.

"Really do need to get a key, Bols."

She smiled despite herself and the way he looked, carrying the weight of his despair square upon his shoulders.

He made it easily to the sofa, holding the bottle against him like a prize. Alex eased down next to him, thankful and worried all at once. It hadn't been the breakthrough they had expected and she honestly didn't know where things would go from here, had no words of comfort to offer him.

She placed a hand upon his shoulder, reeled at the look of deep hurt lying within the stormy steel of his eyes.

"Years," he started, each word an effort, "chance after bloody chance. Always gave 'im the benefit of the doubt, against my better judgment. And 'ow does 'e repay me? By pissin' in my face."

"Don't talk," she said, her fingers stroking against the wool of the overcoat he was still wearing.

He looked at her, silent and motionless for a moment or two, before he nodded his head.

"You're right, Bolly. What good does talkin' ever do, eh?"

She watched as one of his arms raised, unscrewing the top from the bottle. Her free hand moved just as swiftly, unperturbed by the half-hearted scowl of his expression.

"We've been here before," she uttered, wrenching the whisky fairly easily from his grasp and setting it out of reach on the coffee table.

"If you're doin' this for my benefit, it's a bit bloody late."

Her eyes turned softer, tuning into his. "I'd like you to stick around for as long as possible."

A bit rich, all things considered. But even when she had gone she wanted to think of him as a constant, keeping everything going and facing down the worst. _You're not the only one who needs him._

"Hmmm," he muttered, shifting his gaze away as her fingers traced his sleeve, her hand having slipped down his arm.

She hated to see him like this, so broken down, when the hardest part of the fight was yet to come. He needed time to get back to his best, time to recover. Time was something that neither of them had.

He turned towards her, catching her off-guard slightly with his sudden movement. The clock from her bedroom echoed into the room; she should have put some music on but couldn't move from where his eyes held her in place.

"You know, I realised somethin' today." The rough edges of his voice showed his weariness while his eyes, clearer now than moments before, told her that he was being sincere, working hard to battle through the agony. "I dunno who to trust anymore, Bols. Aside from you."

She felt thrown, the declaration coming closest to another she had told herself she would not hear from him and really, it would have been for the best. Looking into his eyes with her throat gone dry, she did what she could to silence the nagging voice in her mind. _If only he knew_.

It took her a while to say anything, her words coming out garbled. She laughed a little, straightening herself against the sofa and trying again.

"I...erm, I never would have expected that. When I got here, that is." Her fingers curled around his thumb, his eyes licking flames across her skin, scorching her. "I thought I'd be the last person that you'd ever..."

"Yer not very good at this, are you, Bols?" She looked a little startled as he let out a chuckle, one of his hands landing upon her thigh. "S'alright, neither am I."

"Getting better, though," she smiled, appreciating the sparks he was sending up her spine with the gentle strokes of his fingers. The thought crossed her mind briefly that they were both wearing too many clothes. Her hand moved to his face, wanting to show him how touched she was, how privileged she felt.

The time that she begged with him to let her in felt like a thousand years ago, not mere months. Part of her felt strongly that she had always been planted firmly in his soul, and that he had been with her since the start too.

"You made me..." His voice was quiet, almost indistinguishable. He cleared his throat, locked his eyes with hers. "You made me better than I was."

 _Oh God, this is too much._ He was vulnerable, and she had the feeling that she was taking advantage. It had been a horrible night. And yet part of her was sure that he wasn't only saying it because of everything that had happened. To have some comfort couldn't be wrong; it was only natural.

He turned his head slightly, brushed his lips against the heel of her palm before pulling back, thinking that he'd made her feel uncomfortable. She felt nothing of the sort.

Her free hand mirrored her other on the other side of his face, and she shuffled closer, bringing her knees up and pressing them against his thigh. She closed her eyes as she felt his arm go round her waist, hand settling on the small of her back.

"I'd bloody self-destruct if it weren't for you."

"Gene," she whispered, one hand slipping to his neck. He'd pulled her into his lap, bringing her closer to him.

"Yer not gunna start yappin' at me now, are you?"

"No," she said, all she could manage before their lips met. There was healing in the kiss, for the both of them; passion and need too, somewhere deeper, just beyond their reach for the time being. She murmured against his mouth, felt his hand stroking her back and against her hipbone.

She was light-headed when they broke apart, a little reluctantly. Her hands against his chest, she could feel that his heart was hammering just as hard as hers was.

"Stay," she thought she heard him say.

Such a simple word that tore at her heart.

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied. _At least not for the moment._ "This is my flat, remember?"

His face remained straight as she smirked a little, his gaze raising to where she was above him.

"At my side, Bolly," he reiterated, his eyes devastating and clear, "don't let me do somethin' I'll regret."

She took his face into her hands, held his body close to hers. And yet it didn't stop the same terrifying dream from coming back.

 _The shot of the gun echoed through her head, as did the cry of his name for her._

* * *

 **A/N: Jeez, these two tortured souls hurt my heart.**

 **I used a line that was cut from 3.8 because I couldn't resist temptation. It's in more of its original context in the wonderful one-shot _Better Than I Was_ by AStoneTown (hurry to read it if you haven't already)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: 2.8 dialogue with credit to Matthew Graham. Wow, that episode hurt like hell. This is my attempt to soften the blows, just a little...**

* * *

 _Chapter 9_

Every night the same set of images crowded her mind oppressively. She found herself in a maze, confronted with barriers that, try as hard as she might, she couldn't knock down. Her body was too weak, wouldn't comply with the urges in her brain.

 _The photographs and cuttings, pinned all over the wall. She saw her own image, many times over, staring back at her._ In the dreams she reached out to rip them all down but they remained firmly in place. _At the end of everything, the single rose._

 _His young face was there, a beacon in the darkness, a light snuffed out. His lifeless eyes staring up at her, remaining with her as he sunk lower. No matter how she tried to frame it, she had been complicit._

Every night she would call out, pleading for help and for comfort, needing for it to all go away. There was too much in her head as it was.

 _Molls. Come back to me, please._

The voices from the hospital had been blocked out, not enough room for them at the moment. She had no idea of her condition, but she imagined that it wasn't good.

 _Gene. Help me get through this._

He had enough to deal with, battling with reputation and rumour and the need to piece things back together before they fell apart past the point of repair.

Neither of them appeared and so the choice became clear. There was no other available.

She had to do this on her own.

 _She came face to face with him, the whites of his eyes shining with a fearful wildness. In his hands he held a rose, shed of most of its crimson petals._

" _You can't overcome your own conscience. You covered up a murder, Alex. That young bobby had his whole life ahead of him. As crimes go, it's a biggie."_

 _But that hadn't happened, not in 1982. She stepped closer, pushing against his frame in an attempt to get past. Though she felt the effort with every fibre in her body her actions had no impact. His laughter was loud in her ears._

" _Oh dear, you don't know. Maybe they don't want you to get back, after all."_

 _The smile that quirked on his lips straightened, his stare fixed towards her._

" _You've picked up an infection. A rather nasty one. They're going to pump you with antibiotics, but you can only take so much. Otherwise..."_

 _She felt a dull pain rush through her arm, a distant and muffled voice echoing._

" _10ml administered. 50ml is the limit." As she listened to the voice of her surgeon, Summers' face remained impassive, the spark that lit his eyes the only sign that he was taking enjoyment in the desperation of her situation. "You've got to fight this infection. Show us how strong you are."_

 _Her voice came out as a whisper, though her lungs hurt as if she was shouting at the top of her voice. "I'm trying. Trying so hard."_

" _Of course you are, Alex," Summers' voice was edged with derision, "but not hard enough."_

 _She felt the tension in her jaw, teeth gritting as she stared him out. "It's you. The infection. Once I work this out and you're gone, then I'm going home."_

" _If you're strong enough."_

 _She tried once more, pushed with all of her might, but her body betrayed her. He began to smile again._

" _I'll stop you and then I'll be strong enough."_

" _Well, you haven't done a good job of it so far."_

 _Holding the rose with one hand, he put his other forward, reaching out towards her. It was the barest touch but she felt it as a punch, full force against her abdomen. Breath stolen from her lungs, her body hurtled backwards, sending her spiralling._

 _He was standing over her as she regained consciousness, reminding her horribly of how she had looked down at the body of his younger self, full of regret for what had happened._

" _It could be so easy, if you let it." His words were further blows, hitting her when she was almost near defeat as it was. "Just the two of us here. I will be king," he smiled wickedly at the assertion, eyes darker than the depths of night as he stared down at her, "and you, you will be queen. Everything starting again, Alex, better than it was before. No more pain, no more suffering. For either of us."_

 _She felt a sharp pain in her gut, wincing as she heard another voice in the distance. The world came into clearer focus around her, the change from darkness to daylight disorientating._

 _It was agony to do anything other than breathe – or try to – but she raised her head, managed painfully slowly to get words out._

" _Never," she said, feeling the life ebb from her, more rapidly with each second that passed, "I will...stop you."_

" _Better do it quickly." He threw the rose to the ground, it landing inches away from where she lay. "Because the clock is ticking."_

 _She could hear it again, that familiar and haunting sound._

 _Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick –_

 _Marking the final seconds. She opened her mouth, formed the name on her lips, but it came too late._

Every morning she woke, warm and covered with sweat rather than her own blood, heart racing and head taking less time to catch up than the morning before.

She sighed with relief, grateful that she had at least one more day, a little more time to figure this all out.

Somewhere, the clock was still ticking.

* * *

The escape from the interview room had to be brief, but she was going to make the most of it. She really wasn't in the mood to deconstruct the mind of a two-bit so-called gangster like Tiny. There was so much else that she could be focusing her attention on, primarily where the hell Summers was, what he was doing and how it fit into the bigger picture. He was a permanent shadow, always with her, and she supposed – or at least hoped – that it wouldn't be so bad if she put him to one side for the time being. Gene was just as determined as she was and he had made it clear that he wanted all eyes on this case, getting to the bottom of precisely what had happened to Doyle and what it was leading to.

Something big, he was certain.

She was hoping they could sort it out quickly, then she could get back to solving the problem of Summers. But the way things were going didn't give her much to hold out for.

Gene came from the opposite direction, meeting her halfway in the corridor. He narrowed his eyes, watching as she absent-mindedly rubbed a hand against her temple.

"Headache? Now you know 'ow I feel most of the day."

"I've taken some paracetemol," she smiled weakly, fibbing. She was too scared to medicate at the moment, given what she had been told by the apparition of Summers.

"Well, it better kick in sharpish. Need to get a move on with this."

So full of sympathy. She grimaced at him and he dropped the hard bastard persona, at least behind his eyes. He expelled a sigh, both hands planted deep in his pockets.

"You gettin' anythin' from Tiny Tim?"

She shook her head, the pain pulsing. "Like blood from a stone."

"Seems fittin'."

"I can't say I'm surprised. It's second nature, isn't it? Code of honour and all."

He scoffed. "Bastards like 'im don't know the meanin' of the word, Bols. You can't chop a bloke into pieces and then stay schtum about it. _Honour_ be buggered."

She nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor and away from the flickering light over their heads. It was helping, being out here. Or perhaps it was being near Gene again. She knew she had to stop using him as a crutch, sooner rather than later.

"I've got a plan," she said after a few moments, raising her head back up to him, "take it from another angle. Word association."

He looked at her as baffled as she might have expected.

"Catches people off guard," she explained, "the most deceptively simple methods can often reveal the most complex motives."

"You can play Snakes and Ladders with 'im if it gets the result we're after," he muttered after a few moments, causing her to smile wryly.

Instinctively she leant closer towards him, arms folded to her chest.

"Either way, I don't think Tiny is the brains of this operation. It's evident that he's not the brightest bulb in the box."

"Bit racist, Bolly," he said, brows lowering, "even if I do see where you're comin' from."

"And I'm betting that he's being set up for a fall," she went on, her brain starting to kick into another gear. She felt Gene's eyes on her, his attention piqued by her emerging theory. "The perfect stooge. Except he's been clumsy. Something's shaken him. We could almost say that he _wanted_ to get caught."

"Hmmm. You might be onto somethin' there, Bols. His sister..." Alex noticed his eyes darting in the direction from whence he had came, a restlessness about his demeanour. "Well, she was about as much use as a chocolate teapot, but she did say one thing. That Tiny was, and I quote, as nervous as she's ever known 'im to be about a job."

Truth be told she'd forgotten that Gene was questioning Tiny's sister. Her mind really was elsewhere. She found herself distracted now, for reasons that were illogical and stupid.

"Not the most concrete of evidence, but it's a start. They don't seem to be the most affectionate of siblings. At least he doesn't, not when he threatened to burn her."

"You said it yerself, Bols, 'e's not the smartest."

She could see something turning over as he glanced away from her again, looking into the distance.

"Crazy thought," she began, trying to guess exactly what had happened in his interrogation. "You don't think the sister's where we should be looking, instead?"

"I dunno. She's cagey, I know that much. Changes the subject every second question."

"Whereas Tiny's more of the strong and silent type."

"Or bloody braindead," he exclaimed.

"Now who's being racist?" The joke didn't break the tension. She looked down, not realising she had shifted her position so much, her hands knotted tight together. "Are we keeping her in?"

"Don't 'ave much choice. She's refusin' to go. Sayin' she needs protection."

"From Tiny?" Alex almost laughed, out of uncertainty. "I think given half the chance he'd come off the worse out of the majority of their fights. She seems very..." she searched for the right word; she hadn't been around Jenette for long, but she had been familiar with lots of women who were cut from the same cloth. "...scrappy."

He shifted on his feet, couldn't seem to keep still for more than a few seconds at a time. "I'll...erm...I'll get one of uniform to look after 'er. That should shut 'er up, for five minutes at least."

She'd come to learn a lot about him in the last few months that she hadn't realised before. One of the facts being that he was surprisingly bad at being evasive.

"What's happened?"

His eyes went to hers once she had finished the question, appearing as guilty as she had ever seen him. "Daft tart reckons I kissed 'er."

He all but said it under his breath. Alex's eyes widened at the revelation.

" _Reckons?_ "

"Well I don't keep a bloody record. Or didn't," he quickly corrected himself in the light of her glaring at him. "I come across a lot of no-marks, I couldn't pick most of them out in a line-up. She says I was about eight times over the limit."

Alex laughed, shaking her head. "Sounds about right, then. You really have to stop kissing women when you're blind drunk."

"I'll stop it with you as well then, shall I? You want to spoil all my fun."

"If it stops you getting into trouble," she retorted. "Your past is catching up with you, Gene. Or should I call you Casanova?"

She was aware she was treading a dangerous line with her teasing, but she was in desperate need for a bit of fun, with everything that was going on.

"You wouldn't be laughin' if you were a fly on the wall, Bols. She was makin' eyes at me and goin' on about me hands. If she could 'ave got away with it she would 'ave crawled into me lap and tried to get out of it by gettin' hands-on 'erself, if you catch my drift."

"As unsubtle as ever, Guv," she said, pursing her lips. Right now she had to stay in control; she didn't have the capacity to work herself into a jealous rage. "Perhaps I should ask her a few questions?"

His face shadowed as he straightened up from where he had been slouching against the wall.

"You stick to crackin' Tiny. That's the main thing we've got be worried about." Despite her previous assertions she found herself unsettled by the way he was acting, setting himself away from her. "We 'aven't got long. Twenty four hours, probably less. Clock's tickin', Bols."

Before she could say anything more he was retreating, back towards her as he moved into the distance.

He hadn't needed to tell her what she already knew.

* * *

 _Rose. Coppers._

 _It had been right in front of her, all along. The simplest of things was all it had taken._

" _Rose."_

" _You already done it."_

" _Well, think of something else."_

" _I said coppers!"_

 _It might have been enough but she had needed to be absolutely sure._

" _Come on, Tiny, think about something else."_

 _But he couldn't, and everything was confirmed._

" _Coppers! Rose, coppers! Rose, coppers!"_

 _The face of Summers materialised again, the picture of calm and quiet confidence._

 _All roads led back to the same point._

" _Well done, Alex. You worked it out. Well, for the most part anyway."_

 _This time there was a pocket watch in his hand; he held it in the middle of his palm out towards her._

 _On the dial, instead of numbers, she saw '25ml' written clearly._

" _Halfway. Now you don't want to peak too soon."_

 _Sounds were warring against one another; the ticking of the clock, the bleeping of machinery. Voices still too far away for her to properly distinguish._

" _I knew there was a reason I came here. I knew it the moment I arrived. What is it you say, Alex? Everything is significant."_

" _I don't..." The antibiotics were making her sluggish, blurring her vision and deadening her senses. "You can't be..."_

" _You really don't look too well. I'm surprised Hunt hasn't noticed. Maybe he's got other things on his mind. Distractions..." He flashed a sinister smile. "Happens to the best of us."_

" _No," she fought to say, "you've got it wrong. He's...he's my constant."_

" _But you lie to him too," he pushed back, harder than she could manage. "What if you told him the truth? What you've done. How you buried that body. Eh? Would he be your constant then? I am in control, Alex."_

" _No," she managed weakly, feeling her defences start to dissolve._

 _Summers leaned down, aiming to place a kiss on her forehead but pulling away at the last moment._

" _You get some rest. It'll be a big day tomorrow." She was fenced in, couldn't move her limbs in the bed. "Remember, you have to come alone. It won't work otherwise. Then you'll be back where you belong."_

 _Out of all of this darkness, it was the single piece of hope that she held onto._

* * *

She watched his fingers pressed to the bottle as he poured out a measure, hand shaking to the smallest of perceptions. It was getting harder to catch five minutes as they all became more deeply ensconced, the much promised and threatened Operation Rose on the verge of unfolding completely. Beyond the doors the rest of the team were on phones, calling through files. Inside here, it was like another world.

He came out from behind his desk, went slowly to where she sat. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, leaving a moment of palpable tension hanging before she reached up, taking the glass from his hand. She sipped slowly, eyes pinned to his figure as he stood with his back to her. Still as a statue for what seemed like minutes – everything was so protracted right now – until something jolted him back to life, his deep sigh filling the air as he poured a glass for himself.

The drink was barely touched as she put it down on a cabinet, feeling too restless to stay seated. Her throat burned and she couldn't tell whether it was from the whisky or the emotions she was fighting to keep under control. _Control_. That's what was needed. They were so close to cracking this, uncovering the biggest scandal that the Met had ever seen. The damage would be immense, the fallout lasting for longer than she could fathom. If all went to plan she wouldn't be around to help pick up the pieces, so it was imperative that everything went right now, while she was still able to have an impact.

The urge was strong within her, the distance only a short one to breach. She could see herself in her mind's eye, her hands brushing tenderly and then her arms wrapping around him, her head resting itself upon the broad plain of his back. Her lips pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, leaving a lipstick print on the fabric of his shirt which would be later disguised by his jacket. Saying all that she couldn't, that if she was braver then perhaps she would venture. It would only ever be a version of the truth, so distorted that she couldn't recognise it. She wasn't sure that she could rely on her mind anymore, the thought terrifying her so that she could feel herself trembling, nerves unable to stay still.

Her hands clasped behind her back as he turned suddenly, blue eyes piercing through her, nearly exposing her fears and uncertainties completely plain, leaving her nowhere to hide.

 _Summers' voice from her last dream echoed in her head. "What if you told him the truth...would he be your constant then?"_

 _Sometimes she wondered if he didn't already know._

The bottom of his glass hit the surface of his desk, making her jump slightly.

"King Douglas Lane."

She nodded, still unable to speak for the time being. It was another detail that she should have picked up on sooner. If she hadn't been so dosed up then perhaps it would have been easier. She didn't know what level she was at now. Luckily she'd remembered at just the right time. She'd studied this at Hendon, right down to the date and exact time that the heist had taken place. It all made sense now; that was why 1982 was so important to Summers.

She hadn't been able to do it alone. It had taken a terrified Chris and an equally frightened Shaz. They had come to her when he got the call from the unidentified station and she had watched carefully, doing what she could to keep her fear for Chris's safety in check. Shaz had been beside herself as they sat in the car, trembling much the same as she was now. She'd extended a hand to her younger colleague, gave her a maternal look of reassurance.

" _Hope he'll be alright," Shaz said, her voice wavering. "He wouldn't do anything stupid, would he?"_

When Chris had been thrown from the van, she had to physically restrain Shaz from running after it, calling out to her to stop. They were all treading such a thin line and having one of the team placed in such obvious danger was very near a step too far. Shaz had been apologetic when they'd got back to the station; for a few moments it had been almost the same as when Molly had come to her after an argument, contrite and still a little bit afraid, even if she was a complete pushover where her daughter was concerned.

" _I'm sorry, Ma'am," she had said when they were in the kitchenette, Alex feeding her sips from a glass of water, "I don't know what got into me. Well, I do really."_

The words resonated with her, filling her chest to a greater degree as she looked at Gene.

" _If someone means to hurt the person you love, then it takes over you. It's like you're invincible, and nothing could get at you."_

However hard she tried, however much she consoled herself with the thought of everything she had fought for being so near within her reach, she could not put her feelings aside or make them any less.

He said nothing more, the silence in the room echoing around her ears. The clearing of her throat was far too loud, causing his gaze to shoot back towards her.

"I've been thinking. If we go into this blind then it's doubling the risk." She knew very well that he wouldn't like what she was going to say. "We need to put Chris in there."

Predictably, his expression turned to thunder. "You are jokin', Bolly."

"I've never been more serious. If this is going to play out the way we want it to then it's to our advantage that we have an insider. They believe that they can trust Chris."

She saw his eyes darkening on her utterance of the word 'trust', the look that burned within his hard gaze sending a chill skittering down her spine.

"He's already got the information from them," she went on, "the bullion truck is scheduled. Somehow it will be diverted to King Douglas Lane. The clock is ticking and we don't have a second to waste."

The bouts of silence that came followed every time she spoke were driving her crazy.

"I can't wrap me 'ead round this," he finally said after taking a swig of amber liquid, gaze dipped to the floor, "we don't know who the ringleader is, it's all off hunches. I still don't believe they'd dare to go for gold."

"Operation Rose was never going to be about the small time," she felt the need to remind him, "Mac knew as much. It's probably been planned for years, down to the last detail."

He looked over the top of the glass as he drank, pouring out more from the bottle once there was nothing left. She needed him to stay in control just as much, wasn't sure what was for the best.

"He doesn't deserve to play hero of the hour," he said quietly, most of the second helping knocked back, "not after what he's done. Gettin' bloody rewarded for bein' a traitor."

"You can't cut your nose off to spite your face. I know it's tough for you to do, but you really have to stick your pride in your back pocket."

Her voice had risen as she went on, and he looked up at her from where he had sunk into the chair behind his desk, a wounded animal with a sore head to boot.

"This is bigger than all of us."

Hell, it was bigger than this whole world. She couldn't bear to think about what would happen to the team, what would happen to Gene, though she had contemplated the hundreds of possibilities a thousand times over.

She watched him as he toyed with a miniature car on the top of his desk, gaze fixed downward again. Perhaps it was the enormity of it all that had him shaken. The legendary Gene Hunt, reduced to silence and contemplation in uncertainty. Maybe she had made a difference, though right now she didn't see that it was a good thing.

"Maybe...maybe you need to be on your own for a while." Her voice was regretful, even if it might be the case that things had to sink in. She needed him to tell her that she was wrong. _Why wasn't he pleading with her to stay now, like he had done a few nights previous?_

"Someone told me somethin' before."

His words stopped her before she could open the door. She looked back towards him, saw him with hands clasped together, his gaze diverted from her.

She'd seen that expression before, only hours ago. Coldness cut across the centre of her chest as she watched him thinking, their typical roles reversed.

There was no need to say who this _someone_ was, but she found herself confirming the suspicion anyway.

"Jenette."

His eyes met hers after she'd uttered the name; she found it impossible to pick out any trace of emotion on his face, and wanted to cry because of it.

She grew frustrated with his silence. He was the one to bring it up; why should she finish it?

"Well," her voice wavered, "what did she tell you?"

He took another slug of whisky, prolonging her agony. "She said..." The hitch in his breath made her believe he had a conscience after all. "She said that she 'eard your name bein' mentioned. Amongst all the talk of...well, I don't 'ave to tell yer, we've been goin' through it for long enough."

The assertion was like a dagger in her chest. "You don't seriously believe her?"

The voice at the back of her head, as well as Summers' voice from her recurring nightmares taunted her. _This is your punishment for not telling the truth._

 _You didn't think you'd get away scot free, did you, Alex?_

He stayed quiet for an unbearably long time, wiping his hand at the corner of his mouth.

Surely he could see the tears that had begun to brim in her eyes, beyond her own control.

"I 'aven't known what to believe for a very long time," he uttered. "All of this business makes Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny and bloody leprechauns seem feasible."

Perhaps it was her own fault after all. If he could be so easily swayed by the fluttering of eyelashes and the flattering of his ego then she only had herself to blame. Yet she was determined not to go down without a fight.

"And of course she's got no motive for saying it," she retorted, watching as he pouted in defence. "Come on, Guv. I thought you knew better than to be taken in by something so obvious."

In that moment she wanted to run, as fast and as far as she could, tearing through the boundaries of time until she arrived back to Molly. She went in the opposite direction, walking up to his desk, placing her hands down and bringing her face level with his.

"You said you trust me." Her voice was thick with emotion, carrying the weight for both of them. She simply couldn't believe that his words could be so empty, not when it came down to this.

Her hand ached to reach out and touch his. _Speaking of things not being deserved._

"Gene? I need you to trust me now. Please."

He looked up at her and she was sure that she wasn't fooling herself when she could see in his eyes that his conviction in her remained, even if there were roadblocks in the way.

 _Or maybe it's just wishful thinking._

The door swung open on its hinges, accompanied by a breathless Shaz.

"Flamin' Nora, Grainger, did your parents never teach you any bloody manners?"

"Sorry, Guv," she apologised, flustered. "Phone for you, Ma'am. They didn't say who they were, but it sounded urgent."

"Okay, thanks, Shaz."

She cast a longing glance back towards him before leaving; it probably wasn't the wisest thing to think but right now she felt as though she couldn't care less about Operation Rose, the whole sorry affair causing more than enough trouble as it was.

The worst damage it could do was to forge a rift between her and Gene.

The receiver had been left on her desk and she took it into her hands after exhaling a breath. "DI Drake."

"Up to 36ml. Things are getting serious, Alex."

She refused to engage Summers in conversation, knowing that it would all come to a head very soon. At least if Gene didn't slam on the brakes, causing them all to go under.

"I just wanted to let you know that you forgot one thing. I paid a little visit to Evan earlier. He's counting down the hours until little Alex comes home. And would you know, so am I..."

Slamming down the receiver with some force she saw everyone in CID stop what they were doing to look at her.

"Wrong number," she managed by way of explanation, though she wasn't even convincing herself. "Now, come on. We need to get ourselves prepared."

"Roger that, Ma'am," Chris answered, tipping her a wink which caused her to smile, despite everything.

She turned towards Gene's office, making out his now-standing figure behind the blinds.

Time had never meant so much.

* * *

"All units," Ray's voice came through the radio, "I have eyeball on the bricks. Clearin' Gorton Road, headin' towards Maybridge Road. That'll take them to the High Street."

"High Street?" Gene responded, barking into the receiver.

"Give me that," Alex held her hand out in the passenger seat, "you need to keep your eyes on the road."

A little reluctantly and with one hand on the steering wheel of the Quattro, he passed the radio into her grasp.

"That's not the bloody plan. They'd 'ave to go through the back streets to get onto King Douglas."

Just as she was starting to doubt herself, another frequency came through.

"Guv, it's Viv at base. We've got reports of a fire on the High Street."

 _A fire. Yeah, there was a fire._

She breathed a silent sigh of relief, which went unnoticed by Gene.

"Fire? What sort of a fire?" he shouted, loud enough for the radio to pick up.

"I'm not sure," Viv responded, "but I think it's the florist. Yes, it's the florist on the High Street. There's already officers at the scene, and they're blocking it off, redirecting traffic."

"Christ, what the hell are they playin' at?" He chanced a look at her, and she had to play at being equally confounded. "What are the bricks doin'?"

"Quattro to Granada," Alex spoke into the radio, "what's going on?"

"They're gettin' redirected," Ray returned after a long crackle of silence, "they're taking the van on the back streets. Towards King Douglas Lane."

 _I was right._

"Jesus," Gene exclaimed, twisting his hands upon the wheel. "Hold onto yer kecks, Bols."

"Yes, Guv," she managed to say before he swerved the car sharply, spinning it into reverse.

It was appropriate as everything went into a tailspin from there, the Quattro racing to follow up to the scene where Ray and Poirot had their eyes on the blaggers. By now she was sure that Chris would have got the call through from the bent coppers who were lying in wait. She just hoped that he would be okay; she'd promised Shaz to ring through for back up if things got out of hand.

"Blaggers are out, Guv," Ray radioed through, "it's gunna take them a while...bloody hell...quick, down!"

"Ray? What's happenin'?" Gene's eyes were wide as they speeded the route down to King Douglas. "Bolly, use that bloody radio."

"Quattro to Granada. Come through. Tell us what you can see."

The radio crackled again, Ray's voice garbled.

"Granada, come through!"

"The bent coppers are on the scene," Ray came through clearly, "they're making the transfer now."

"Shit," Gene muttered, "we need more back up."

He picked up the speed further, Alex being thankful she had her seatbelt in place. The Quattro turned the corner onto King Douglas Lane, in time to find the police van still parked up. Alex craned to look out of the window, seeing Chris standing at the side of the road. Unharmed; _thank God._

"Christ on a bike, Carnegie!" Gene gestured to the figure in the middle of the road, clearly heading up the operation. "That smarmy, bent bastard."

She was distracted by the figure retreating from the scene, dark overcoat covering his shoulders.

 _Summers._

Putting his foot down, Gene drove the Quattro straight towards the unsuspecting DCI.

"Carnegie, you've just been Quattro-ed!"

The car came to a stop, Gene clambering out. Alex followed slower from the passenger side, looking down the road, Summers still in sight in the distance. Ray, Poirot and the other lads ran up, grappling the bent coppers to the ground.

"This doesn't bode well for future career prospects in the Met, eh, Chief Inspector?"

As Gene pinned Carnegie to the ground with his boot, a brawl broke out between good and bad. In the ensuing chaos it was easy for her to break away unnoticed, or so she imagined.

"Bolly!" his voice called to her while he was still getting to grips with his counterpart, "where are you goin'?"

There was no way that she could let Summers get away.

"Make sure that Chris is okay," she said, her voice fading as she broke into a jog, shouts of 'Bolly' and 'Drake' echoing behind her.

Her heart hammered in double speed as she trailed, the figure of Summers in sight. As she got closer to him she could hear the ticking sound, growing louder in her ears. There was a fainter echo, a voice calling out numbers.

" _47...48..."_

She drew her gun out of her jacket, arriving in a ruined churchyard, the setting hauntingly familiar. The wind whipped at her heels, picking up leaves. The ticking continued, louder still.

" _49...nearly there, Alex."_

She'd lost him somehow, the noise and the debris distracting her. Both her arms and legs felt weak, there was a pain pulsating against her chest.

A gun jabbed into her ribs, her own weapon stolen from her grasp. She gasped, wanting to cry out but the sound did not come.

Turning on her heels she saw Summers in front of her, stepped back a few paces, gun pointed squarely towards her.

"November '82," she said, willing her heart to slow down, "The King Douglas job."

He smiled towards her, one of the ominous smiles so familiar from her dreams. "There you go. Good girl."

"There was no mention of any bent coppers."

"The Met covered it up," he said, gun aimed and steady, "Carnegie got away. The first time."

"And you saw it all." She tried to imagine what it must have been like, the pain and the betrayal. She did empathise with him despite his torment of her. Despite the fact he was pointing a weapon straight towards her. "Back then. A young PC."

"They paid me off."

From where she stood she was able to make out the tears that were gathering in his eyes, the very slight tremor in his hand.

"And all this was about putting things right," she said, as calmly as possible, breathing steadily. Not taking her eyes off him. "You wanted them to get caught."

"When I joined the force, I believed, Alex." His voice caught as he uttered her name, making her uneasy. He charged forward, causing her to step backward, nearly stumbling to the ground. "They took that away from me!"

"I know," she breathed, her own voice close to trembling and giving away the full extent of her fear. "I'm sorry."

He smiled again, eyes gleaming with dark promise. "When I saw you couldn't be corrupted, I knew. I knew you'd uncover Rose."

"Police!"

Alex inhaled quickly, seeing Gene's figure appear behind that of Summers.

"Drop it. I will shoot."

She watched as the smirk rose upon Summers' face, her chest tightening and her limbs freezing as he turned around to face Gene.

"I know."

Her breath settled in her lungs, eyes pinned to Summers' careful movements. She had thought there was an escape, saw it before it happened, envisioned his disarmament quickly followed by Gene seizing him, relief washing over her.

The illusion quickly faded away; instead of lowering his weapon he turned it, cocking the gun and pointing it directly at her head.

 _You said you'd help me. You said I could go home._

 _Everything ends how it started._

"Drop it!" Gene shouted, shattering the silence that she'd been sucked into. "I've warned you, I won't do it again."

Summers said nothing in response, only smiled, looking straight into her eyes.

One shot, two.

Her mind was so overwhelmed that it could very well have been playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn they came from behind her rather than in front.

Summers collapsed to the ground, blood trickling onto the stone.

Those eyes looking into hers again in the seconds before.

She watched him die for a second time.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Same credits as last chapter apply for the (minimal) 2.8 dialogue.**

* * *

 _Chapter 10_

She watched him die for a second time.

Except she missed the exact moment it happened, as the world whirled into chaos around her.

He slumped to the ground heavily when the second shot ripped through him, the blood that spread out from his abdomen not quite the same colour as the roses she had come to associate him with. She could hear his gasping breaths as the reverberation from the gunshots continued to echo and pulse against her ears.

His life, ebbing away. She had seen the flash of anger in his eyes, very real. The intent that lay behind the threat.

There was no doubt in her mind that he would have done it, despite all of her desperate and silent pleas.

She became conscious of the world other than herself and the dying Summers, the sound and space, the light playing at the edges of her eyes. Her head lifted with a painful effort, her gaze seeking out Gene who stood a little way away, in front of her, his arms frozen at his sides.

His gun free of smoke.

Her eyes must have held the same alarm as his did, their shared glance one of disbelief and confusion, slightly skewed in their own perspectives.

 _It wasn't supposed to go like this. Not in everything that was dreamt._

Milliseconds passed, moving inexplicably slow. She noticed his mouth moving but didn't hear the sound that left it – not until it was too late – that particular sense being stolen from her temporarily.

"Bolly."

It was only a whisper anyway. He hadn't intended to escalate the situation further, his warning meant to prise her away from danger.

She missed it, and so the slim chance of escape passed her by.

Another shot fired into the air and then she was trapped, one arm digging against her stomach and the other pressed to her neck. She felt the barrel of the gun, still hot, nudged to her throat. She tried to shriek but nothing came.

The mystery of Summers' assailant evaporated. Alex turned her gaze as much as she was able, confirming what she already knew. The other woman seemed like an inversion of herself, blonde hair instead of dark, black leather contrasted against white.

"I don't believe this," she railed, the gun she held prodded firm against Alex's pulse point, "where's me bleedin' money?"

She shouldn't have thought so sarcastically, would surely have been dead on the spot if Jenette could have peered into her mind.

 _Perhaps you would have had a better chance of getting it if you hadn't just shot him dead._

"You're on your own, Jenette." Gene's voice cut through everything else, the echoing silence and the screeching sounds she could hear inside her brain. The voice that was begging, _please please please._

 _Please don't let it end like this._

"Whatever 'e offered you to get between us, it was a lie. It's over, love."

Another illogical reaction, given the position that she was currently in, but it stung to hear him call _her_ that.

At such close proximity Alex could hear the unsteadiness of Jenette's breathing. She could certainly feel her growing agitation, even if she relaxed her grip slightly, allowing Alex to get some breath into her lungs.

"You're all the same. Coppers. Men." Her voice remained harsh and steady. "I shouldn't have trusted him. I _definitely_ shouldn't have trusted you."

A thousand thoughts raced through Alex's mind. If she was slow, incredibly careful, she could edge her way out of Jenette's grasp. It still carried a considerable risk. The woman was vulnerable, betrayed. She tried to remember what to do in this situation, what would incur the minimal amount of damage.

Her mind was blank, except for the image of Layton aiming square at the space between her eyes.

The sound of the gunshot the last thing she heard until she woke up in a different world, the past turning into the present and unforeseeable future.

"Jenette," Gene said, "don't be stupid."

It wasn't the reaction she was hoping for. Jenette's arm clamped like a vice upon her stomach, nearly winding her.

"You lied to me!" the blonde shrieked, her voice bouncing off the air. "You're still lying, even now. I know that you remembered me. That you remember kissing me. We could have been so much more. I know that I'm what you need."

Alex's eyes went towards him, pleading with him to look at her if only for the smallest of seconds.

 _Think this through. Don't provoke her._

"It was never goin' to happen," he uttered, staying firm and rooted to the spot, "not then and certainly not now."

Next to her ear Alex could hear the bubblings of a bitter laugh.

"No. Not now you've got this slut."

The gun rose higher, jabbing sharply against Alex's temple, and this time a gasp did leave her, Jenette's arm winding tighter around her.

Gene's arms went up in retaliation, aiming his gun precisely.

Alex found she could barely breathe.

"Let her go."

To the contrary, she felt Jenette grip at her yet tighter, nails digging through the fabric of her clothes and near piercing her skin.

In the middle of it all she heard the radio that Gene must have still had on his person crackling, a message coming through as clear as anything.

" _50ml administered."_

In the chaos she had forgotten, somehow. Forgotten that she was fighting for her life like never before. Someone was still helping her along.

Summers' now lifeless body on the ground. Gene with his finger edging on the trigger, his stance otherwise calm and collected.

The ticking, louder than silence and her own heartbeat as it pounded sickeningly slow in her chest.

 _You need to fight, Alex. Show us how strong you are._

The chance was passing her by, she was not going to let it slip away.

"Just do it!"

Instinct was nothing like premeditated thought. Her elbow met sharply with Jenette's stomach, sending the other woman backwards. A shot rang out from behind her as she tried to get out of the way, the force of the world holding her limbs still.

Another shot came from the front, a reaction. She heard its fire, could smell the smoke that accompanied its speed, but was blind to its visibility. Her mind yelled and screamed at her body to move, to duck for cover, but she was too slow to cooperate. The highest dose of antibiotics had stunted all of her senses, made any of her efforts ineffectual.

But she felt the pain. Immediate, stronger than anything else she'd ever experienced, in this world or the other. Right in her stomach. Both hands flew there, in the hope that she could stem the blood flow, that she could save herself. It was hopeless.

His name was trapped in her throat, killing her as certainly as the shot was. The shot that he had fired.

She had hoped against hope that it wouldn't come to pass, but her premonition was finally coming true.

Reality twisted upon itself, the layers and dimensions she couldn't comprehend flexing and warping around her. She could hear voices, sharp in one ear and muffled in the other.

 _She's going into shock._

 _This isn't what we expected._

 _Everybody, keep clear!_

She gasped out a breath, felt the agonising pain fading from her body, becoming phantom. Slowly she took her hands away from her abdomen, raised them to her face, steeling herself to be confronted with her own blood, as red as crimson coating her palms.

There was nothing there.

Shaken, with uncertainty coursing through her veins, she looked down, adjusting so that she had a clearer view. The skin of her stomach was smooth, untouched. She stroked her hands against it, expecting to encounter a hidden wound, something invisible to the naked eye.

"Bolly!"

His voice came as an echo, a reverberation from seconds previous, sounding too loud to her ears. She frowned at him, questioning the desperation in his tone. _I don't know why you're so shocked. You're the one that shot me._

It had been an accident. That was always unclear in the dreams she had, but she knew it now. Somehow the thought comforted her.

"BOLLY!"

She felt his hand upon her arm, still smarting from where Jenette had gripped onto her. His other arm went round her waist, spinning her upon her feet, confronting her with the sight before them. Her head was so jumbled; surely this couldn't be real?

Something was deceiving her. She had felt it, seconds previous. The bullet from his gun making contact with her.

Except it hadn't. He'd met his target – how on earth neither of them could begin to reason – and on the ground, inches away from the lifeless body of Summers, Jenette lay, blood soaking barely visible against the black of her clothes. Her hand clutched to where the bullet had caught her and she was murmuring into the otherwise unbroken silence.

 _This can't be happening, not like this._

"Someone call an ambulance," he barked into the radio unveiled from the pocket of his coat, "and do it bloody sharpish!"

She was struggling to breathe properly, her eyes still fixed to the woman who had threatened to kill her only moments ago, prone on the ground but slightly propped up, still conscious. Gene was pulling her away, moving her along by his efforts as her feet refused to work.

"She should be alright, but I reckon it's too late for 'im."

He was softening the situation for her benefit. There was no doubting the fact that Summers was definitely dead, his neck twisted awkwardly but his body otherwise face down to the ground. Alex's gaze flitted from him to Jenette, back and forth, and she nearly stumbled to the ground herself before Gene righted her, brought her to sit on a low stone wall. He touched a gloved hand to her cheek, forced her to look into his eyes rather than the horrors before them.

"Stay 'ere," he said in a low, almost gentle tone, "I won't be a moment."

She nodded wordlessly, braced her hands against the hard and smooth stone that was beneath her.

As she watched Gene crouching to retrieve Jenette's discarded gun, then saw how he leant close to her, checking her breathing and vital signs, the thoughts that had been suspended in her head kicked back into life. The full dose had been administered. She wasn't sure how long these things took, but it couldn't be too much more.

That's if it hadn't killed her.

 _If Summers hadn't got there first._

The panic started to rise within her, heat searing to her head as her body trembled uncontrollably. _Cure or kill._ She was on the very edge, each second that passed holding an uncertain eternity within it. Each breath she took counted against what had been and what was coming.

She was so absorbed she didn't notice Gene back in front of her, at least not until his hand slipped against her arm, feeling her shake.

"Ey, it's okay. Bolly," his hand trailed upwards, brushing her hair off her face and then cupping her cheek, her eyes wide and wild before him, "it's okay, it's alright."

She looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but calm and assurance. _Her constant._ Her saviour. All of her worries, her fear regarding what was happening to her and what would become of her, began to fade – if not to nothing then at least temporarily to a softer version of themselves, tempered by blinding light.

She felt as though she was back in time, to the first time that she had encountered Summers, though she hadn't been aware it was him at the time. The drugs heavy in her bloodstream, her whole body paralysed as she fought against the oncoming blackness.

Gene's face was the first thing she had seen when she came back around.

" _Am I dead?"_

" _Not unless I'm Saint Peter. And I find that highly unlikely, don't you?"_

"Am I..." she started to say, her voice sounding strange and dismembered from her body, "It's not supposed to... _Gene."_

He stared at her and she could see the concern in his eyes. She rose to her feet again with his assistance, but she quickly lost her balance, her arms clutching around his neck as he pressed her body against his, holding her tight as she began to cry and continued to shake.

"Shhh, Bols," he soothed her, running a hand over her hair as her face was buried against his shoulder. "It's okay. It's all okay."

As the others arrived on the scene, as well as the ambulance and paramedics that Gene had called for, they remained that way, some kind of impenetrable force surrounding them. In the security of his embrace she finally stopped trembling, regained her composure if she still had no idea how she was existing.

Both of Gene's hands were against her face, the smooth warmth of the leather upon her skin almost as comforting as his bare touch was.

"It's over now," he told her.

The jolt in her heart didn't know whether she wanted to believe him.

* * *

The atmosphere back at CID should have been one of elation. They had carried off the biggest foil ever, exposed Operation Rose and the rot that had set in not too far away at their neighbouring division. She was the one out of place, souring things for everyone with the whispers and rumours of what had happened.

They'd missed all of the good stuff, DI Drake and the Guv caught up in some off shoot with the most twisted of them all.

She watched from the sidelines, piecing it together in her head as they all got on with business as normal. Summers recruiting Jenette. It wouldn't have been too difficult. She provided the ammunition he needed and he offered her the chance of a lifetime.

If he didn't get there first.

The mug that Shaz had brought her, still clad in her white dress but looking much less out of place than she did, was stone cold in her hands now. She clung to it still, catching the younger woman's eyes while she spoke into the receiver of the phone, her words masked to Alex's ears.

She needed to make a call.

Standing decisively she almost threw the mug to the floor, placing it down onto the desk before it could fall from her hands completely. Chris's calls of "Ma'am?" were ignored as she headed for the corridor, past the front desk until she got to the payphone towards the entrance of the station.

The number she dialled rang out continuously and she felt sick to her stomach the longer it did. Summers had done the impossible, twisting and distorting reality beyond all repair. She made a silent apology to her younger self, telling her that she had deserved to live. That it was all her fault, for making a deal with the devil in the first place.

The ringing tone stopped, was cut off by a long-overdue answer.

"Hello?"

"Evan?" The breath of hope returned to her, perhaps a little prematurely. "It's Alex. I mean, DI Drake."

"Alex," he answered, sounding somewhat uncertain. "This is unexpected."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I just..."

 _I just want to know that you're alive. That I'm still alive._

"Um, that case we were working on. When I stopped by."

It took him a minute or so to respond. "Oh, yes. I take it there's been a development?"

"Yes. Yes, we've...apprehended the suspect. Or I should say, he's been...well..."

" _Oh_ , I see. Well, I don't expect much harm was done, if he was as dangerous as it sounded like he was."

"No." She held her free arm tight against her, feeling bad that things had ended the way they had for Summers, despite everything. He must have died in 2008 too, there was little question about it. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I thought I should."

"Thank you," he answered, still not entirely convinced but neither was he insincere.

She felt awkward, harbouring the same uneasy sensation that always surfaced whenever she considered that she was speaking to the younger version of her own godfather. But she had to fight past the feeling, for the sake of her own sanity.

"How are you?"

"Oh..." he stumbled, caught off guard by her question, "I'm...I'm getting there. Since you came round, I'm...well, I think that I'm facing up to things. Finally."

She smiled. "That's good to hear. And how...how is Alex?"

Her heart felt frozen within her chest. She was fairly certain that nothing irreversible had happened, given his positive answer to her previous question, but she wouldn't be at peace until she knew for sure.

"She's good." The smile that she could hear in his voice spoke volumes, and brought the weight rising up from her chest. "I picked her up just yesterday, actually. She's home until the new year now. Excited about Christmas already."

Her smile grew wider, recalling how she loved the holiday as a child, even after her parents had gone.

"Well, don't spoil her too much. I did...I do that with my daughter, and it's always gone against me."

Evan chuckled. "I'll try not to. Although I doubt that I'll keep to my word."

She ended the call after another minute, sensing that he was keen to get away and running out of things to say herself. Her head felt light, adrenaline charging around her body at the wonderful realisation that her fate hadn't been sealed, after all. She still had a way and it wasn't the end.

She could get back and she _would_ get back. She just needed to figure out _how_ , or otherwise stop searching so hard for the answer.

The laughter and the animated chatter of CID came to an abrupt halt when she walked back in, hardly giving her the need to put two and two together. She wanted to shout and scream, tell them all in no uncertain terms that was everything was fine – _much better than she had expected, actually._ Instead she went for self-preservation, sitting calmly back down at her desk and pulling some folders from one of the drawers. Soon enough things went back to normal, even if was muted in comparison to the moments previous.

She jumped hearing his voice behind her back, though he hadn't spoken as loud as he could, not by a long shot.

"Bolly," he said again when her eyes met with his own, giving her reassurance, "a word."

She was a little surprise as he stood to the side, allowing her entrance into his office before him. The eyes of almost everyone were on them, following their path, but she didn't have the space in her mind to worry about it, and he closed the blinds once he had shut the door behind them both.

Her stance was awkward, fingers looped into the waistband of her jeans.

So much to say, but it never seemed to come easy.

"I'm grantin' you leave," he said after an interminable pause, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet hers again, "A week. More if you want it."

That wasn't what she had expected, nor what she wanted.

"Gene... _Guv_ ," she corrected herself, feeling as though the situation called for it, "I'm...I'm grateful, but no. No, thank you."

His expression hardened for a brief moment. "Why won't you ever take a simple order?" His tone was harsher than he had intended it to be, she could tell.

She wore an uneasy smile, hoping to show her appreciation for his concern for her wellbeing. God knows she could never show enough gratitude for what he had done for her that day.

"I want to be here. I need to keep working. It's..." she faltered for a moment, thinking of the distinctions of this world and the one that she knew, perhaps not better after all. In this moment, the similarities seemed bigger than the differences. "It's how I cope with things."

He gave her an uncertain look, but didn't make to argue. He opened and reached into a drawer without glancing down, retrieving a bottle and pouring out a measure for them both. She employed her coping mechanisms, so did he.

"I'm fine," she reiterated as she leant back against his desk. "It's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last."

Perhaps that was tempting fate.

"Hmmm. Not if I can 'elp it, Bols."

She had little doubt about that. The warmth that spread out from the centre of her stomach counteracted the chill she had brought on with her own speculation.

"Have you...heard anything?"

She watched him take a slug from his glass, his little finger sticking out in the characteristic way that it did, one of his peculiarities.

"Docs say she's out of surgery. To look at 'er you wouldn't know any the wiser, apparently." He looked into the distance, his hand tightening around the glass. "She can look forward to bein' put away when she's made a full recovery, keep 'er brother company inside. So to speak, anyway."

"You shouldn't have..." she paused for a moment, feeling a dull ache starting to pulse at the back of her head, "you might have to face a disciplinary."

"She's not the ruddy Queen of Sheba," he barked back, his gaze holding greater concern. "Nobody's gunna care. There's more important things to contend with round 'ere right now. Like replacin' half the coppers in Fenchurch West, for one."

She rubbed at the sore spot, downed some of the scotch. Despite the time that had passed her nerves were frayed, her disguise barely holding together. The longer he looked at her he could surely tell that, but he didn't say anything, simply let her be.

Her mind was still a muddle, trying to make sense of the non-sensical. Perhaps she did need to take a break, sleep for a long time. Her chest felt tighter as she considered the prospect; she was too scared to take her foot off the break, frightened about what it might mean.

"It shouldn't have gone this way," she said after a long time spent quiet, feeling Gene's eyes settled upon her. _Why had she had the same dream, so many times and more vivid each time it returned, if it meant nothing? Nothing made sense any more._ "You were...it didn't happen like that. And that has to mean something. Shouldn't it?"

She was rambling, hardly making sense, and she expected him to say as much.

"It means that I was doin' my job, Bolly. She wanted to end you, and I was never goin' to let that happen." He lowered his head for a moment and she watched him keenly, knowing that it wasn't just the events of the day that weighed upon his mind. "Never."

She thought again, considering it not for the first time. Gene Hunt really might be her guardian angel after all. She could only imagine what he would make of it all, his wings well hidden from the view of others.

He went close to her, covered her hand in a tentative but meaningful touch which caused sparks to trail at the nape of her neck.

"Go home, Bolly," he uttered, the weariness showing through behind his eyes.

 _If only he realised what he was saying._

* * *

She dismissed herself before Gene could intervene and drag her out of the station, feeling frustrated but bone-tired. It hadn't just been the events of the day affecting her, both physically and mentally. Once she was back at the flat she quickly changed, leaving her work clothes and jacket in a heap beside the bed, curling against the pillow. An hour's nap was what she intended; she woke from a welcome dreamless sleep at gone eight in the evening.

Throwing a pair of jeans on but not bothering changing the loose-fitting top she tidied up in a fashion. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts; they were the worst company to have at the present time. Her mouth was dry, coated with that inexpressible sensation that sleep left behind.

Half of the team were in Luigi's and she sat at the table for a little while, itching to get away the whole time. Slipping back into the facade was something she needed to do, find her feet again for however long she had left here. She had an excuse to escape once Shaz and Chris departed, Shaz fussing over her fiancé and pressing kisses to his face. From the bar she watched as they left one by one, not letting on that the day had been a long and exhausting one. Ray was the last to go, finishing off the dregs from everyone's glasses, tipping his head towards where she sat. He cared more than he let on, or perhaps it had been relief; he liked things how they were despite his grousing otherwise, didn't fancy the responsibility of promotion.

She sipped on her wine, listened to the pop music that had been left playing, Luigi not bothering to change it since Shaz left. He smiled towards her, called her _bellissima_ which was kind of him. Luigi was never anything but kind. She would miss his presence, wished she could conjure up a family member who possessed all of his qualities to take back with her.

Gene looked at her keenly but didn't say anything about her appearance. It was just as well, given that he never lied and she was in no mood to face the brutality of truth.

Glasses were lining up, hers and his; she picked up his a few times but he didn't complain, sat back upon his stool and watched her, the smoke he exhaled whirling around her head in tendrils. She was making a point of not focusing on any point for too long tonight – of trying not to think of anything at all – but she lingered on this, stealing glances over her shoulder, wondering if this was progress that he'd never known.

Certainly _she_ couldn't remember sharing that which she marked as hers – herself, in ways that she had lost track of – like this with any other.

Man. Friend. Lover.

She couldn't stop herself from staring at his fingers, aware of the roughened texture of his skin as well as the way he could be so precise and tender. Endlessly surprising.

 _Constant_. The word circled in her head, attached itself to Gene without his knowledge.

He'd no doubt call her a _soppy cow_ if he ever knew, shrug it off the same way he did with any evidence of deeper affection.

She was being so careful not to say anything of the sort, felt she was close to exploding with keeping all of it inside. The alcohol was not helping; she knew that she was looking at him with doe eyes whenever she turned to him, glances growing longer and softer each time she dared. The way she reacted to him made her frustrated; she had to be stronger than this if she was going to stand a real chance of getting back.

She didn't want to go tonight.

Her hand reached waveringly for the bottle of wine, reflexes not swift enough to stop Gene pulling it out of her grasp. She half-frowned at him, amused at how the tables had turned.

"You've 'ad enough, Bolly."

A smile pulled at her lips as she shook her head in the most pathetic attempt at argument she'd ever employed.

" _You're_ not the one who had a gun pointed at you. _Twice_."

She grasped at the air, almost being successful in wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

"Not today, at least."

Her eyebrows raised and her elbow landed with a thud upon the bar, chin nestled in her palm. His eyes smiled towards her as she waited for him to expand upon what he had said. There was so much of him that she had yet to reveal, the layers endless and each more fascinating than the last, as well as being all the more lovable.

She had no right to use the word, but she wanted to fight against the tide while she still had the time.

It surged within her, the feeling that had been dormant, lulled by sleep and alcohol and talking about everything other than the position they found themselves in now. He looked unassuming, as though he wasn't paying proper attention, which irked her all the more.

"You doubted me," she said without any warning or specific tone to soften the statement. Her mind was back more than twenty four hours previous, when he looked at her with what she could now deem to be suspicion, the sharp sting hurting much more intensely in retrospect.

He stared at her, as if he was trying to remember or otherwise avoid what she had brought up again.

"Don't do that," she ordered as he turned his gaze away from her, "don't pretend, Gene. For the smallest moment you thought I was in on it." She felt a burning in her throat as she considered, still finding it hard to believe that he could ever think she was capable, when she had been proving her loyalty all along. "Why? I want to know."

It truly was a puzzle to her, the way things could shift so fast, foundations she thought she could rely on crumbling beneath her feet.

"Don't start," he muttered as he plucked out one of the glasses from the arrangement, "we're havin' a nice evenin'."

She should have been grateful that he was trying to make it easier. Yet it wasn't the first time she had been sidelined and she wanted to know if these lapses were something she could always expect from him.

She kept her eyes fixed upon him until he could ignore her no longer, the atmosphere becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"You wanna know why?" he said, his gaze burning into her, making her feel foolish. "I don't know why, is the honest truth. It sounds like a cop-out, I know, but you wanted to hear it, so there you are."

Looking into his eyes she knew that he was being straight with her, which made her feel marginally better but also pissed off that she had been wrong.

He edged the chosen glass with a finger before pushing it away with his whole palm.

"You mess with my head. Always 'ave, and now I think it's even worse." He looked down again, finding a spot on the floor that held his attention. "I don't know what to make of you most of the time. You make me doubt meself."

"So you're saying it's _my_ fault," she scoffed, holding back a burst of laughter.

She supposed she could understand it. Other women were less complicated, more of what she imagined he had been used to. Easier to mould, knowing when to surrender.

His face was half-stone, his eyes betraying him on the demeanour he wished to portray.

"You have to make everythin' about you." His voice was low, less accusing than she might have expected.

Silence reigned for a while, giving her the perfect opportunity to deconstruct. She pulled herself back from the edge, peered into an empty glass as though it would provide a solution.

"I didn't..." he began, the stuttering of his voice causing her to turn back towards him, "I didn't do anythin' with her. I swear on me mother's life."

The contrite expression he wore made her heart flutter. "I didn't accuse you, Gene."

He half-pouted, figure slumped as he placed both hands down upon the bar. "The problem is I'm a soft touch. For...a certain type."

 _Damsels in distress_. It wasn't exactly a revelation.

"A flutter of the eyelashes, a way of sayin' things. And I bloody fall for it every time, daft sod that I am."

"You only want to help. That's not a bad thing." She touched a hand to his upper arm, a small spark igniting beneath her fingers which he felt too, his gaze seeking hers again.

"Hmmm. Some people are beyond 'elp though, Bolly."

He was perfectly innocent but what he had said had touched something raw within her. Again she was reminded of the mistakes she had made, one after the other in a line that led her down a path that had not only been wrong but potentially destructive. She had been so hopeful – so easy to deceive – that she had grasped onto the thinnest thread. The face of Summers still smiled at the back of her mind, laughing at her misfortune. He could never have helped her.

The tears came quickly, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed with abandon, nearly toppling from the stool.

"Bols. Hey, come on." His arm went round her, the warmth of his touch radiating. "Don't make a scene."

There was only Luigi around to notice. She cried harder and louder, unable to stop herself, having held onto the grief for too long.

"I'm trying so hard," she choked, hiccoughing through streaming tears, "I'm trying, but nothing's working."

He lifted her to her feet, pulled her against his side as she flopped like a ragdoll.

"Shhh. I know you are, love."

He didn't, but she felt better for his reassurance.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs."

She clung onto him, letting him set the pace and control everything. This was his world, after all.

"Signor Hunt?" She heard Luigi's voice but couldn't see his expression properly for the tears that blinded her eyes.

"Perfect hospitality as ever, Luigi. Signorina Drake's a bit...over-tired, so we'll 'ave to love and leave you. No offence."

"Stai attento, Signorina."

Gene all but carried her out and upstairs, stopping every so often to look down at her. She'd stopped her hysterical outburst and by the time they got to the flat her eyes were dry but tight and stinging. It took her a few moments to fish the key out of her front pocket and she could sense that he wanted to help, thinking that she really should get one made for him. It seemed too _final_ , which was why she had resisted and would continue to do so.

She left the door open behind her, assuming that he had followed inside. Instead he stood in the doorframe, hesitant.

"I should..." he gestured behind him.

Having made it most of the way towards the sofa she retraced her steps, reached for his hand, pulling him forward easily.

"Stay," she uttered, her frame brushed up against his, the pad of her thumb pressing into his palm. "Please. I don't want to start crying again."

"I didn't think you'd 'ave anythin' left."

She smiled, bringing him with her to the sofa. He waited for her to sit down in her spot first, _ever the gentleman_. He'd been sitting for only a couple of seconds before she rested her head against his shoulder, curving against him instinctively. It was the first time she'd felt at ease for days.

Her head was empty except for him, the musky and tobacco-tinged scent of him that she found so comforting filling her lungs, their fingers joined and rested in the halfway point between their laps. She couldn't recall that they'd ever gone so long without saying anything, exchanging verbal blows made to sting but leave no permanent bruises.

In the easy silence the words to a song floated into her mind; it must have been playing on the radio in Luigi's. She tried to divert herself, settle back into her state of peaceful nothingness, but they persisted, causing her to nearly sing out loud.

 _I, I can remember  
Standing by the wall  
And the guns shot above our heads  
And we kissed, as though nothing could fall_

 _And the shame was on the other side  
Oh we can beat them, forever and ever  
Then we could be heroes, just for one day_

She jerked her head upwards as images played on a fast reel through her brain, Gene's eyes landing upon her.

"Bolly?"

Her eyes locked with his and she felt a jolt within her chest, the whole world feeling like it was rocking beneath her. _Time is running out_ , the voice within her head told her and she argued against it, helplessly and hopelessly.

 _Just give me a little while longer._

"Bolly," he repeated, searching her face for an answer she couldn't give, his gaze dropping to her parted lips.

She mirrored him in every respect, bracing a hand upon his chest as she leaned in to kiss him, losing herself against his mouth. His hand slid against her cheek, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, his tongue tracing her bottom lip. She murmured his name, placed her other hand against his neck, breathed him in as she felt her head spinning, desperate for more.

Never wanting this to end.

Their lips were still connected as she pulled them both to their feet, smaller kisses exchanged. Her breathing was quick, heart hammering in her chest; she dared not open her eyes in case everything disappeared before her, Gene slipping from her hands like an illusion.

She'd edged them to the bedroom, no doubt in her mind of what she wanted. What she needed like nothing else.

His hand caught hers as it travelled down his torso, the other firm upon her face.

"Alex," he uttered, trying to ease himself away from where she held him close, "I should go...you're in no fit state. You'd hate me in the mornin'."

She shook her head, holding onto his hand to convince him that she was strong, that she knew what she wanted.

"I don't know when..." she stumbled upon her words, filled up with such emotion, "...this could be our last chance."

She tried to look past the confusion in his eyes, taking backward steps into the room and bringing him with her. With each step traversed, he seemed to be a little more convinced.

"Please," she breathed, knowing she sounded utterly desperate but hardly caring, "I just want you, Gene. I need you."

His arm drew round her waist as she went closer to him, heat escalating in the small gap between their bodies. His gaze fixed upon her lips, quirking into a little smile before she brought them to his own again, the wait almost painfully slow.

She reasoned that she hadn't needed to kiss him again to persuade him, but the opportunity was one she couldn't possibly pass up, not when there was nothing but mere breath between them. She could hear herself murmur against his mouth, one hand twisting into his hair – it was getting longer than she'd ever known it to be – while the other started on the buttons of his shirt, clumsy in her eagerness to feel his skin against her fingers, touch him properly and feel the thud of his heart pulsing into her own bloodstream. _Connection_ , the word echoing in her mind.

His movements became more assured as he slid his hands up from her waist, caressing her sides once he had worked her loose-fitting top off. He'd brought them both to sit on the bed, kissing the corners of her mouth.

"You sure?" he asked her again, muttering against the sensitive skin of her neck which tingled when he brushed his lips there.

She hadn't failed to notice how he had taken his hands from her, not wanting to proceed until she gave consent.

Alex nodded, pulling both of his hands back to her, settling one shamelessly over a still-concealed breast.

"Yes," she managed to say, her breath rasping. He wasn't touching her yet, but the warmth that came from him was enough to set each nerve within her singing.

She felt his mouth smile against her skin as he rained kisses upon her neck, her throat, slipped the straps of her bra down to nip at her shoulder. His hands were working wonders too, one trailing up and down her back, sending sparks skittering upon her spine, the other dipping underneath the cup of her bra – _just as eager and wanting as she was_ – to fondle the soft curve and weight of her breast. He gained better access quickly, taking the garment swiftly from her body, his head dipping to kiss as his hands moved to stroke her sides – neither his mouth or his hands were off her for the smallest fraction of a second – his lips delightfully warm as he closed them around her nipple.

Her stomach tightened, both hands digging into his scalp. She thought that she was saying his name over and over, each repetition in a higher note than the last, but all of her senses were inaccessible, surrendered to him as he took command of her body, utterly responsive as it was to his every touch.

Her arms still bore marks from the events of the day; they'd stopped stinging quite so much in the last couple of hours. She could feel them fading away, healing as Gene passed his lips over them, pressing kisses to every patch of skin available. She knew that she would feel him long after she had gone from here, the memory of him etched into her soul, making her at once complete and closed off, unable to love anyone else in the same way for as long as she was lucky to live.

 _I'll always be in love with you._

She felt aimless, her hands smoothing against him, waiting patiently but aching from the loss of contact as he ridded himself of his vest and belt. He was just as keen to get back to her, his hair tickling against her stomach as he pulled the jeans from her legs, fingertips leaving electricity in their wake.

His mouth was hot, planting more kisses upon her, finding the skin that was less smooth stretched out just beneath her stomach. He lingered there, apparently in fascination, trailing his tongue over the fine crinkles and then above the waistband of her knickers, making her writhe and wriggle, breath caught tight in her throat.

She was sure that he couldn't have mistaken her, but all that had happened made him more susceptible. Cautious, even. Not a word that she would use often with Gene Hunt.

With one hand resting upon her side the other pulled hers away from him, kissed her wrist tenderly. It sent another unbearably beautiful sensation spiralling through her.

 _You are needed,_ she could hear his voice in her head though he said nothing, his lips otherwise occupied.

 _Here, with me._

He squeezed her hand in his, assuring her without words, before letting go, taking the last remaining cover from her body. Tears were gathering in her eyes as he placed small kisses on the top of her thighs, her soul calling out to his with the deepest need.

"If this is the last time," he uttered, his voice deliciously hoarse, his hands drawing little circles upon her skin, "then we'd better make it count."

A high gasp fell from her lips, then a series of soft moans as he put his mouth on her where she craved it most – at least in this moment. His hands worked their way up her body, stroking and caressing, while his tongue lapped at her, slow and teasing. She felt as though she was floating, the pleasure racing and radiating through her so intense that she thought any moment that she might fall apart.

 _I'm falling, further and further._

She wanted to hold on but it was all too much – his mouth, his tongue, his eyes glancing up at her while her legs were hooked about his shoulders. His hands trailing down her calves, tickling at the sensitive spot behind her knees, melting her further. She was incoherent and he was enjoying it far too much.

He didn't even need to bring his elegant fingers to her sleekness; she was undone without their addition, her breathing laboured and her body on fire, begging for mercy even as she needed more.

It took her a few minutes to come back down to earth, reaching for him while she remained half-prone, her legs still numb. He took off his trousers and boxers in one go before lying down almost on top of her, a satisfied smirk covering his face. Alex drank in his expression, her head still in a haze. She shut her eyes tight, grasping a fistful of his hair in her hand and crashing her lips to his. She'd left traces of herself upon him, and she only hoped that the memory would burn as bright and stay as strong and immovable as his would for her.

His forehead rested against hers, she heard a contented sigh slip from his throat. Her smile faltered when he pulled back a little to gaze down at her, silvery-blue eyes cutting straight to the heart of her like every part of him did.

"Ey, no tears, Bols," he uttered, stroking a thumb against her cheekbone, "it weren't that bad, was it?"

She shook her head, looking up at him earnestly, her hand stroking between his shoulder-blades.

"You...you won't forget me, will you, Gene?"

She knew that there were others before her and that there would be others that would follow. He was never short of occupation, striving all the time to out-do himself and put the world to rights. _His world_.

His gaze softened to the vulnerability in her eyes. She'd never felt vulnerable with him, not like this.

"I'd 'ave a job," he replied, tracing his thumb against her bottom lip. His other hand was against her side, the backs of his fingers coasting upon her skin. "No, Alex. I'd never forget you. Not even long after I'm gone."

A rush surged within her; she flicked her tongue against the pad of his thumb, causing him to growl.

She kissed him so that she wouldn't think of the fate that befell him, that which may have already done so.

"I promise," she said between increasingly hungry kisses, "you'll be my secret. Always."

She held true to the promise within her heart, fiercer now than it was even days ago, that she would never betray him, divulging all like some sordid kiss-and-tell. She wouldn't offer him up for deconstruction or examination; instead she would keep him just for her.

He dipped his head to nip at her neck and the lobe of her ear and she murmured her delight. She could feel him, hot and hard, and she wanted to press him down against her, have him surge deep inside. Instead he plucked at her skin with little kisses, brushing his lips and hands over her reverently, making her feel utterly worshipped.

"God, Bols, you're beautiful," he said against her skin, moving his mouth to the valley between her breasts, "I don't know how..."

He didn't finish, focused his attention on her instead, and she wasn't in the mind to press him. Her hands trailed down his back, fingernails scratching him softly as he continued to map her with his mouth. All that mattered to either of them was the other and their ensuing pleasure; they were one another's world.

 _If only the world could go on forever._

Her hands reached his buttocks and she pressed a kiss to his neck as she grasped onto him, both of them letting out helpless groans as he filled her, and she felt complete once again as they moved together in perfect synchronicity, each second that passed bringing her closer to ascending but grounding her, too.

It seemed like a contradiction but time was a factor that simply did not figure. They made love long and slow, minutes melting away unnoticed against kisses and touches; the night took on an almost endless quality, much to Alex's delight. Her head would have well argued otherwise but her heart was certain in these moments when she was in his arms, underneath and above, his eyes gazing into hers as he drove her to euphoria again and again.

 _A part of me will always be with you_.

She'd held back for months, telling herself that it was no good, but that night it was different. He felt so right, within her, adoring her. In her whole life she had never felt so wanted, so _needed_ , and the feeling took over her entire being, made her feel _real_.

She didn't know when she would get the chance again – she wasn't even sure that this wasn't her last chance – and so it wasn't a loss of inhibition but instead an impulse brought from deep within her as she held onto him, feeling him in every way possible.

She said it more than once, making sure she looked into his eyes as she did so – not an easy thing when they were both so overwhelmed.

"Gene...I love you."

* * *

 **A/N: _Heroes_ written by David Bowie and Brian Eno.**

 **Things are officially totally AU from here on out...(I still have no idea how long this fic is going to be, whoops)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So, Alex made it out of Operation Rose - what could possibly be next?**

 **(a massive thank you to the lovely guest reviewers - I wish I could bombard you with love via messages but this shout-out will have to do)**

* * *

 _Chapter 11_

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

Her hand was placed on the left side of her chest, charting the rise and fall of her steady, easy breathing.

 _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._

She was still here. Days passed one after another, as normal as anyone else would think them to be. Beginning to roll into weeks. No echoes or spectres in her head; it was as though the slate had been wiped clean.

A nagging feeling at the back of her mind that it was too good to be true. Something had to happen to change things. The shadow was small and still receding, distant enough so as not to trouble her, charging forth in moments that were more fleeting than the space within a singular second. Extinguished by the light which was growing around her.

She would keep breathing, keep living. It was all that she could do.

That, and get on with her job. _Scum stopped for no man_ , _or woman_. Gene's vocabulary was becoming her own, so much time did they spend together.

Every hour of every day, spare a few minutes.

Each night was treated like the one they had spent together when she had been convinced that it was the last she would have in this existence. Wrapped up in one another, tangled together. He murmured against her skin, tongue tracing her earlobe as she pulled him ever closer. _You'll wear me out._ She smiled up at him as she reclined, glimpsing flashes of blue, his eyes smirking towards her before they closed in reverence, lips lowering to her. Her hands pressed against his shoulders while his dark gold hair tickled, shot goosebumps up upon the surface of her skin. The sound that was still strange to her ears leaving her throat in a helpless moan as he surged into her, seamlessly. His words whispered, torn from him as she felt every single movement, cherished completely.

 _Bolly._ She threaded a hand through his hair, tight against his scalp. _Alex._ One leg hooked around his waist, her other hand pressing to the base of his back, driving him deeper. Binding them closer. Her eyes traced over his face, contorting with the effort to satisfy her but still calm, more open to her than in so many other moments that had passed between them. So beautiful.

 _Alex_. She adored it when he called her by her name, unguarded. She needed to hear him say it more often. _I don't...oh, Christ._

She loved it when he surrendered himself, something that was never easily done, always fighting to the very last moment. She whispered that it was okay, that she wanted him more than anything. All of him. In all of those moments she never lied. Feeling him break apart gave her an indescribable rush, like being reborn. The logic of it was ridiculous but it always made perfect sense to her in those wondrous, perfect moments when nothing else existed except for two bodies joined, two hearts thundering, striving to outdo one another for the capacity they could hold within.

Every time she gave a little bit more of her heart, a bigger portion of her soul. It was dangerous, she knew. Fatal.

There was always a war in her mind.

 _I can't go on like this._

 _How can I ever leave?_

Breathing, living. Loving, more and more each day.

At night, it was all she was.

She felt good in herself, strong. Ever since Operation Rose had been uncovered to the light of day they had been rattling through cases at a speed of knots, down in no small part to her contributions. It was like all of her senses had been sharpened, she was picking up on things that would have passed her by without a second thought before. It didn't occur to her that she could be suffering in the other realm – her _real life_ , though this one was doing a very good impression. She must have fought off the infection, the antibiotics doing their job successfully. Whatever was in them they had worked incredibly well, in this world at least. She didn't seem to have the time to ruminate on why she hadn't woken with a start in her hospital bed, 1982 nothing but a memory in vivid technicolour.

She still made notes, when she wasn't occupied by work or living it up in Luigi's. Or in bed with Gene. They would help in the long run, she was convinced. She couldn't piece it all together now but they would be vital in time. She was sure of it.

The thought had crossed her mind several times, evidenced by the amount she had written his name in a clear hand. _Was Gene the cure?_ He had saved her from certain death with the shot he had fired, flying against everything she had seen in her dreams and was sure would come to pass. When darkness crept upon her in the dead of night, the time when she would let her mind retreat, her sanctuary was to think of his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest as tears of fear streamed from her eyes. _It's okay, it's alright._ His voice clear in her head, while he slept so close by her.

 _It's over now._

Not yet. The ticking, the voices of the doctors and nurses had been silenced. There was nothing but what she was experiencing now. A piece of the puzzle that wouldn't fit, no matter how she considered it.

 _With him I'm strong, maybe stronger than I've ever been. But does that mean that without him, I'll perish?_

Something that could be saved for another time. For now she would sleep, the same as him, dreaming of nothing, feeling safe in the knowledge that he was next to her. Tomorrow another day to take on those foolish enough to believe that they could pose a threat.

 _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._

Everything was so easy when the simple act of breathing was the biggest focus.

Everything was fine until they got a call informing them of a murder.

* * *

Shivers snaked through her on surveying the scene, pulling her firmly out of the equilibrium she had settled into. The crimson blood stains standing out against the grey tones of the washed-out winter's day, the Quattro parked not too far away, another streak of red against the bleakness.

It was only yards from the place where she had been shot, near the river and the non-existent Millennium Bridge. The victim a woman in her early to mid thirties, smart business suit, professional. A bullet hole left between her eyes, her head thrown back. The difference was that she was sitting in the driver's seat of a car, the windscreen of which had been shot through too, splinters of glass covered like a sheet over her lifeless body.

She hadn't been marched to her death – _But I am not dead. I am still fighting –_ but instead had been taken unawares.

Not enough time to get away.

She watched frozen as Ray and Chris picked carefully through the debris for further evidence and distinguishing information of this poor nameless, defenceless woman. It felt unnerving to be standing there as an observer, a witness of sorts, like someone or something had buried into her brain and pulled out the final moments that had kept her suspended, watching them play out in somebody else's existence. Put the end to it.

It couldn't be called _déjà vu_ , exactly, but it was a strange, sickening feeling.

 _This can't possibly be a coincidence._

"Guv, Ma'am," Chris called out, holding the victim's handbag in the air, "we've got an ID."

He came towards them, thankfully, though Gene took a few strides forward, an arm extended as Chris brought the evidence forth.

A driving license confirmed the woman's name – Jillian Pearson – and date of birth: 22nd September 1948.

"That was my mother's birthday," Alex blurted out, feeling Gene's eyes turn towards her. "I mean, not exactly. She was a few years older."

"I should think so," she heard him mutter, handing the document back to Chris. "Anythin' else?"

"Not really. Lipstick, some perfume...hey, Shaz has got that one."

"Alright, this isn't the bloody cosmetics counter at Selfridges!"

"Sorry, Guv." Chris continued to rifle through the contents of the bag, causing Alex to feel yet more disturbed. "Oh, 'ang on...looks like some photos."

"Let me know if there's anythin' tasty in there," Ray shouted from where he was still hunched over the side of the car.

"For God's sake, show a bit of respect!" Alex exclaimed, at a loss for any other words, anger and confusion bubbling up within her.

"Listen to DI Drake, Raymondo."

She thanked Gene silently for backing her up.

One by one Chris passed the glossy photographs into Gene's hands. Nothing out of the ordinary or accusatory, perfectly normal snapshots of a life well lived. Jillian smiled out of each frame, her eyes shining, vibrant.

 _Why was life so senselessly cut short, with such horrific frequency?_

Alex noticed that she was alone in all of them, aside from one picture where she was hugging a dog, and she felt a strong sense of empathy with the woman who was not unlike herself, on the surface of things.

The final photograph from the selection sent a shockwave through her.

Cradled in her arms was a child. A boy rather than a girl, around eight or nine years old, with brown hair and green eyes that were as wide as saucers. He wore a gap-toothed grin, beaming towards the camera, thoroughly loved by the mother who held him tight to her.

Of course there was nothing to say that she wasn't an auntie, an older cousin, a close friend of the family.

But Alex knew different. She recognised the markers, the signs that only one mother could see in another.

The voice that had been silenced within her spoke louder as she felt her defences starting to crumble, leaving her exposed. _Not a coincidence. Far too many similarities._

Perhaps Summers had been leading her astray, the perfect cover for the real danger.

Gene's gloved hand landed upon her shoulder and she started, despite knowing that he was her protector. She turned to look him in the eyes, needing a distraction from the thoughts she had been plunged back into, and saw that he knew she had been affected, even if he didn't know the full extent.

"Bols."

His voice echoed against her ears, sounding far-off. The sounds within her head were too loud, coupled with the memory of a shot ringing out – she couldn't say which one in particular – almost deafening her.

"You alright?"

She nodded slowly, looking up at him again. He took hold of her arm, led her away from the scene and towards the Quattro. It was largely ineffectual – Jillian's face was burned onto her brain, a reminder of her similar fate, twenty six years in the future.

Having Gene's hand circled around her did help, grounded her in a better moment.

"Look, if this is weird for you," he began, his gaze firm upon her, "given what 'appened with Jenette an' all. If it's too soon...you don't need to work this."

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, the others being too preoccupied to notice. She was glad of his attention, even if she would have preferred to throw herself into his arms instead.

"No, it's alright. I'll be alright." She assured him with an even tone, betraying what she felt inside. "It's just...well, that kind of thing is always a shock to the system, isn't it?"

He looked marginally convinced of her off-white lie, offering a twitch of his mouth and patting his palm against her upper arm in a gesture that would have been more suitable for one of the boys.

Her mind was occupied for the rest of the day, until she could attempt to drown and dull her over-active senses with glass after glass of wine, and even that didn't do much to help. How could she have been so naive to believe it had come to a stop, giving her some free rein?

The clock in the back of her brain had started to tick once more.

She began to wonder if it had been her fault; for every day that she remained here, another life would be taken as compensation. _I'm sorry,_ she told Jillian in her head, almost shouting it so that she would be able to hear. _This shouldn't have happened to you._

 _It shouldn't have happened to me either._

She found herself the first one in CID each morning and the last to leave each night. If it wasn't for Gene she would have remained glued to her desk, poring over files and drawing out theories, making up for the time she had lost. Needing the redemption.

It had gone half past six when he emerged from his office, striding over to her desk. The rest of the place had been deserted as soon as the hour had struck.

"You'll give yerself a 'eadache," he murmured, his voice almost soft.

She looked up reluctantly from her notes, giving a faint smile so that he wouldn't worry or press questions upon her.

 _It's the least of what I deserve._

He remained at the side of her desk, waiting patiently as she packed her things away, letting out a sigh here and there. After what seemed like hours she had nothing more to fuss with, other than putting her jacket on.

They walked in silence out of the station, Gene nodding towards the night skipper as they headed out. On the street it was as dark as if it was midnight and it felt just as cold.

"You 'ad any more letters?" he said out of the blue, causing her to frown in confusion.

She had forgotten all about the lie she had told weeks ago, losing track.

"No," she uttered quietly, her chin dropping once she had looked at him to confirm the fact.

"Shame," he replied after a few seconds. "I could do with knockin' someone's block off, without the risk of any consequences."

She smiled despite herself; to placate him perhaps, even though there was little need. He'd do anything for her at the moment, be it throttling Pete, kissing her to chase her fears away or, as she had requested the last few nights, simply lie next to her until sleep finally came after hours to quieten her mind.

The one thing he couldn't do, however, was determine exactly what was happening to her.

She was at a loss for that herself.

* * *

The interview room felt claustrophobic; Alex struggled to breathe, though the air was stale anyway.

The sooner this was over, the better, even if it wasn't to say that things would be solved so easily. After what had turned into something of a wild goose chase over the last few days they'd finally tracked down their number one suspect for the murder. Jed Barnes looked older than his twenty eight years – likely a testimony to a tough life, every day a fight for survival. In order to do precisely that he'd turned to theft and drugs, and was now one of the most prominent underground dealers on this patch of London. He was a long way from the top still, a cog in a very large and complex machine, but a significant one all the same.

Stretching from just below his left eye down his cheek was a wide scar and his head was shorn close, dark prickles dusting his crown. Aside from being thin they looked nothing alike and yet Alex couldn't help but be reminded of her assailant.

 _Perhaps there is a connection to Layton, somewhere along the line. Barnes could well be part of the empire he had spoken of._

The images came back to her; seeing Layton in Wormwood Scrubs, staring him down behind the partition of glass. Begging for information about the bomb that blew her young life into pieces, hoping that it would reveal something about her future fate at his hands.

As Layton remained at the forefront of her mind, Barnes caught her eye. His face was impassive, unmoving, but she could have sworn she saw the spark of something underneath the surface as their gazes met.

She would not be reduced to begging and pleading this time around.

She took a surprisingly easy breath, leant back against her chair as the air filled her lungs. As she did so Gene leaned forward, arms upon the desk, taking her previous position.

"Jed," she said, starting off simply.

"My name's Jeremiah."

The defiance didn't throw her off course, even if she was a little surprised by it.

"You go on the street by Jed."

He didn't stare, looked at her almost nonchalantly. "I was christened Jeremiah. Jeremiah Lawrence Barnes. And that is what I prefer to be called now."

"I'd prefer to call you somethin' else entirely, sunshine," Gene promptly interrupted. He shifted imperceptibly in his seat, casting a quick sideways glance to Alex. "'ow does Murdering Lowlife suit? If we're gunna call a spade a spade it's a good place to start."

Alex breathed in and out slowly, so controlled that neither of them noticed. Jed – Jeremiah didn't say a word in the light of Gene's retort to defend himself, leaning back on his own chair.

Gene slid one of the pictures they had held back across the table, while Alex gave the further details.

"Jillian Pearson. Thirty four years old. Secretary. Wife." Her throat threatened to close up completely before she could utter the next word. "Mother."

"She was found near Bankside last Thursday mornin', bullet right between 'er eyes. Know a few people who are fond of that particular move. And we know you know them as well."

Barnes moved forward to get a better view of the photograph, Alex watching him study the woman in the frame.

"Pretty," he drawled, his accent just as thick London as Gene's was characteristic of Manchester. "But I've never seen 'er before, I'm afraid."

"Bullshit," Gene hit back like a ricochet. "There's no point in lyin', Barnes. I should tell you that my record for nailing scumbags is without a single failure. So you might as well own up now because I wouldn't want to keep you up needlessly."

He didn't flinch in the line of fire, stretched out again leisurely. Gene leaned further forward, attempting to intimidate Jed into speaking. When that tactic didn't prove successful he got up, the sound of his discarded chair rattling upon the floor.

All the while Alex remained in place, hands placed calmly upon the table.

"Not sayin' you weren't clever in coverin' your tracks. You've obviously learnt a thing or two from those friends of yours."

He paced the floor, the click of his boots reverberating from the floor to the walls. The sound a familiar one to Alex, part of the cacophony she carried into her dreams. Not really the right term – they were something else entirely.

She noticed him stop at the side of Barnes, crouching down to his height in the chair, hands planted firmly in pockets.

"But, y'see, you didn't clean up after yerself completely. And, unfortunately for you, if there is the smallest piece of evidence left out to be found you can be damn well sure that my team will spot it."

He took another photograph from the inside of his jacket, held it in front of Jed's face.

"Now I'm not the expert, but I can tell that isn't bloody washin' powder. Is that what you did, _Jeremiah?_ Shot an innocent woman through the 'ead and then did a line of coke off the bonnet of her car to celebrate?"

She shivered on the inside, conjuring up the scene in her mind upon Gene's vivid words. She just needed to stay in control, to breathe in and out. Not allow herself to get emotional and _involved_ , even though there were so many similarities.

"Why did you do it, Jeremiah?" she asked, keeping her tone measured. She could have well chosen to launch herself over the table, raining blows upon his pathetic and remorseless face.

 _A reaction like that had been exactly what Layton had wanted._

She was not going to make the same mistakes.

A number of theories were in her head. The primary being a kind of inferiority complex, leading to behaviour of compensation. His insistence upon being called by his full name rather than the nickname that had acquired him notoriety was completely in line with that. He wasn't her first choice but Adler had been right about so many things.

"David Pearson. Jillian's estranged husband. You two 'ave a few pals in common an' all."

Jed didn't give anything away – or so he thought. The small jut of his chin downward and the rub of a thumb upon his knuckles spoke volumes to Alex.

"Mr Pearson isn't just a banker," Gene went on, "he also 'appens to be a druggie in his spare time. Likes the same kind of stuff as you do. Not entirely surprisin', given that 'e's been a client of yours for two years now. Almost exclusively."

Alex honed in on Jed's unwavering expression, trying to predict the moment he would crack as Gene hovered at his shoulder, his persistent presence usually enough to break the most hardened of criminals.

"But lately 'e's been shoppin' around, which is not good news for you. Losin' one of your most valued customers. Stings, especially in the pocket."

They had discovered that David Pearson had racked up quite a large debt, most of which could be traced back to Jed. She was aware that divorce settlements weren't cheap, though the Pearsons were in the early stages of their separation. Still he wouldn't be able to pay out for a long time, which was not news a dealer wanted to hear.

"Get rid of the primary drain on David Pearson's finances," she uttered from the other side, balancing out the interrogation. "Once his wife was out of the picture, you could swoop in and claim what was rightfully yours."

Jed remained silent, the only movement he made was to bring one hand up to pluck at a brow.

"Come on, Barnes. The game's up. I would actually like to get out of 'ere before the taps run dry."

She took her eyes from Gene, who had decided to back off somewhat, and stared instead at Jed. He looked younger than his years now and she tried fervently to focus on the case at hand. Not see the face of the man in front of her shift and warp into that of another, the excuse for a man who had sentenced her to a personal hell.

"DCI Hunt is right, Jeremiah. There isn't anywhere left to run. If you tell your side of things here and now then it will be better for you in the long run."

Not by that much, perhaps a couple of years.

He raised his head, looking at her with a cold stare that sliced through her soul. There was a sudden jumble of noise, static screaming through her brain and surging beneath the surface of her skin. The darkened room thrown into blinding light for less than a second.

She turned her head quickly to Gene, trying to discern whether he had noticed anything. Evidently not judging by his unchanged stance, leaning heavily to the side of the table, arms crossed to his chest.

"Everybody underestimates me," Jed broke his lengthy silence, "nobody takes me seriously. Thinks I'm just a scrap of a kid, even though I've been workin' this scene for years. Think they can get away with muggin' me off. I had enough of it. Somethin' snapped."

He snapped his fingers together, the sound of it bouncing off the walls.

Alex straightened her shoulders unconsciously, kept her exterior calm and unaffected.

"Was easy, really. I 'ad more bullets but one was all it took. God, the high was incredible. On a level with the best gear I've 'ad. Maybe even better."

Her stomach soured; for a moment she thought she would have to run to excuse herself. Somehow she kept things in control.

He looked between the two of them, a slow smile curving his thin lips. "I'd do it again, in a heartbeat."

"You wouldn't." She knew when people were bluffing. Even those who believed they could tell the most impenetrable lies always slipped up somewhere. They were all only human, although sometimes and with some people she had trouble in seeing that humanity.

He sniggered, looking down at the hands he fumbled with. His inhale of breath could be heard echoing in the room; Alex felt a certain pressure come towards her as Jed leaned forward on his chair again.

"Try me," he muttered.

Before she could absorb the threat – if that's indeed what it was – Gene threw himself forward, hurling Jed up from the chair by his collar.

"You know, I've come across a lot of shit-stains in my esteemed career, but _you_ ," he spat the words into the unflinching face of Jed, "are one of the worst."

It was hard to see completely, with the angle that Gene held him at, but Alex could indeed make out the smirk of satisfaction upon Jed's lips.

Gene threw him back down onto the chair, Alex half-surprised that the legs didn't give way with the force.

"You ended the life of a young woman. Completely blameless in the tussle between two men." How often it went that way; the cruel reality made her despair. "But you also left a child without his mother."

The question of _"why?"_ remained unsaid, sitting held between her tongue and lips. It would have been pointless to ask, so instead she let the weight of what had been done needlessly hang in the air, hoping that it would have some impact somewhere down the line.

The eyes that had been for the biggest deal of time spent in here almost lifeless sparked again.

"The world is a messed-up place. I found out before I should have, so I'm just passin' the knowledge on." He gave a shrug of his shoulders, as though he was stating the most trivial of facts. "Life is hard."

"Well your life's about to get a hell of a lot harder from here, sunshine, but you should be tough enough to deal with it. Just one word of warnin'," Alex watched as Gene crept around again, his mouth lowering to Jed's ear, "don't go droppin' the soap."

While Gene exited the room Alex stayed a few moments more, needing to draw strength to rise from her seat. She hadn't quite expected the interview to take so much out of her but then again the case did hit somewhat close to home.

 _Home_. Those strange echoes had come, too fast and too much at once for her to properly comprehend. Had she even really encountered them or was it a product of too much thinking? The after-effects had left her woozy, her legs leaden when she did finally manage to get onto them.

As her mind whirled unsteadily she felt Jed Barnes' eyes upon her. Turning her head towards him with the intention of getting the upper hand she ended up being paralysed by his hard stare.

"You know that this is part of a bigger picture, don't you?"

His voice seemed to shift, take on a different guise to the hard-edged London tones. Small spots of light appeared in front of her eyes, too fragmented and fractional to hold on to.

"I don't..."

He smiled, different to the way he had done before when taking ownership of his terrible crime. A hand shot out, snapping towards her wrist, and she reared back before he could make contact, nearly losing her footing.

She felt weak, the effort to breathe a near unendurable task.

"It's only the beginning, D.I. Drake," he murmured, his mouth curving higher upon one side, "Alex."

* * *

She had stayed at her desk for the rest of the afternoon, trying to keep her head down and use urgent paperwork as an excuse for not engaging in small conversation. She felt awful, both shivery and sweating, and it didn't seem to matter that she told herself that the sensations would pass – like countless others before.

Something was different about this particular permutation.

 _Summers hadn't been the end of it._ She had realised that, given the fact that she was still here, in a place that she couldn't possibly belong. And yet she had not expected this, had allowed herself to be thrown off-course.

The words that came from the mouth of their latest conviction ran around her head. _It's only the beginning._ The beginning of what? _The end?_ She'd had to face so much, she didn't know if she had the strength to take anymore. She felt depleted, running dangerously low. Listening out for an update, some kind of hint of the direction she should take. A vital clue that would guide her home.

She envisioned herself in her hospital bed in her mind's eye, looking pale and lifeless. Time wasn't up, not yet.

The shadow of Summers was cast once again, backed up this time, no longer fighting alone. Looming larger in her head, overpowering every part and sense, so much that she felt herself being invaded.

 _Do you know that you've only said one word since you got there? Just the one._

Her eyes drew up from the narrow field of vision that she had purposely restricted herself to, looking towards the closed door and the half-open blinds.

She waited until the rest of CID had departed for the evening – glad that nobody was there to see her struggle to make it the short distance – and entered his office before he could emerge to meet her. Her expression was apologetic, catching him as he was reclining in his chair, half-defeated from the day.

 _This isn't the right time._

She was worried what state she would end up in if she didn't say anything.

He straightened up quickly, rising to meet her gaze level across the room.

"Reckon we deserve to treat ourselves tonight, Bols. The equivalent of the North Sea, for me and for you."

She faked a smile, knew that he didn't need her to expand.

"Um...any news on the Operation Rose fatality?" she questioned, tentative.

He frowned, drawing closer to her. "The bloke who pointed a shooter at you, you mean? Not a sausage. Thinkin' it'd be easier to find an ID for the Invisible bloody Man."

She swallowed hard, though it did nothing to get rid of the lump that engulfed her throat.

She had absolutely no idea how she was going to begin; however she phrased it, it was going to sound completely crazy. Her silence spoke volumes.

"I...I knew him," she blurted out before he could start to get too suspicious of her raking up old news, "That is, of sorts. We're from...we're from the same place."

The silence returned for a few seconds before the pout upon his face dissolved. "Well, that might explain it. You're more than enough to drive someone to it a lot of the time."

The scene from her recurring dream flashed up in her mind, Gene taking the position of Summers.

"No, it's not...Gene, this is going to sound insane. But I swear, it's the truth." Her hands fumbled in front of her, her head felt like it had been set alight. "And I should have told you sooner. But I thought that I had to...I didn't think I'd get the chance, not once Operation Rose came to light."

His lack of verbal response unnerved her, especially after everything that had happened with Barnes today. His eyes fixed upon her, delving deep.

"Don't keep me in suspense then, Bolly."

Her heart felt as though it was plummeting past her feet.

"There is no ID for him because..." – _God, are you really going to do this? It'll be the end of everything_. She breathed in deep, not helping the dizziness in her head. "Because he's not from here. He's not from this time."

His expression quirked, as much confusion apparent as he was willing to let on.

 _There's more of the story to tell._

Oh, so much more.

"He is – well, he _was_ Martin Summers."

An interminable length of silence passed. _If it's going to happen, please just do it now so that we can both be spared._

"Summers?" Gene finally said. "A relation, then."

She shook her head, feeling her heart cracking within her chest. "No. He was a Detective Inspector. But in 1982, he was a Police Constable."

"But -" he faltered, "I dunno if you've checked a paper, but it _is_ 1982."

She inhaled sharply, expelling the breath quicker than she should have done.

"I know. At least, here it is. But PC Martin Summers and DI Martin Summers are one and the same. One died, but he wasn't supposed to. I was...I was there when he did it. And he put the gun in my hand, Gene. It's in my drawer. Summers shot his younger self, right in front of me."

Silence again. She couldn't bear the sound of it, but the sound of her own voice – sounding like she had gone stark-raving mad – wasn't a great deal better.

Her eyes searched his face, sought his out when they evaded her.

"Change of plan, Bolly," he said, the sound of his own voice creating an echo in the room, "I don't need to get you blitzed tonight."

She laughed, a knee-jerk reaction, unstoppable.

"I know. I thought it was all in my head, but Summers _was_ here. He was from the future, and I...I am too." She let the revelation sink in, unable now to snatch it back. It sounded just as strange to her own ears, but it was an incredible relief, too. "And I know that I have to get back. I thought that Summers was the one who was going to get me there, but it wasn't...I'm so confused, Gene."

He shot her a look from where he had sat down on the surface of his desk, saying _you're confused?_

Still, she had been expecting a lot worse.

"The future," he said quietly; she almost strained to hear him. "Where exactly is that then?"

"2008. Twenty six years from now." She kept her eyes connected with his, wanting him to know that she was being completely honest with him. "I was shot, and I woke up on Markham's boat. I had no idea where I was, and I was so frightened. And then there was this car, and those boots."

She dropped her gaze for a few seconds, taking in the familiar snakeskin apparel upon his feet.

"And you."

He looked to her again, something within his eyes. An element of reality in this deeply unreal world, something that she hoped she could hold onto.

"I know why I came back to 1981." She felt herself sinking even lower, her stomach tightening and heart beating uncomfortably fast. "Tim and Caroline Price...I'm their daughter. I'm Alex Price. I thought I came back to save them, but I couldn't."

She struggled to hold back her tears thinking of everything that had happened, the memories that she'd had to relive.

Gene continued to stare at her; she had not the faintest idea of what was running through his mind.

"And now I don't know what I have to do, but I think it's going to happen soon...Jillian Pearson, she was shot in the same place as me. I think it might be some kind of warning...but I'm so tired, Gene. I'm tired of trying to think, trying to fight...but I have to do it. I have to get back...to see my daughter. She's going to think I don't care. That I don't love her anymore."

Summers' accusations were haunting her, revolving round and round in her head, driving her mad.

 _What would she think to her mother forgetting her, replacing her?_

 _I never would._

It was all too much; thinking of Molly, confessing to Gene. She felt as though she was splitting into two here and now, the pain that pulsed through her nerves agony.

"Ey, Bols." He was in front of her as she looked through tear-blurred eyes, arms open to her.

She crashed into his chest, weeping freely. His arms went around her, making her feel safe and secure.

 _The one constant._

He could have deserted her, but it all seemed unbelievable now, that she could have ever considered that.

 _Nothin' can hurt you, not while I'm 'ere._

Her tears ceased eventually, she felt his grip upon her loosen. She gazed up at him, one hand held to the left side of his chest.

"I've wanted to tell you for so long, Gene." She still struggled to catch her breath. "I should have done it sooner, but I was scared...but I owe you the truth. I always have."

He didn't say anything in response, stared past her shoulder instead of looking at her. His arms were still held loosely about her waist.

"You believe me, don't you? Say you believe me, Gene."

She stared up at him for a few seconds before his eyes met hers, relief prematurely running through her.

"I believe yer."

A small smile lifted her lips, her arms winding around his shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered, lifting herself onto the toes of her boots, bridging the small gap between them and pressing her mouth to his in a small but meaningful kiss.

If she could have held herself in that moment in time forever she would have very seriously considered it.

She unfurled herself almost shyly, stepping back from him, unsure where to put her hands or direct her gaze.

"Um...I think I'll go back to the flat and freshen up first, but I'll see you in Luigi's?"

He nodded. "Yeah...I'll see you."

She smiled, though the chaos inside her hadn't yet time to settle and her feet still felt unstable. The same smile persisted as she left the office, taking her steps carefully.

All the same, the biggest weight had lifted from her shoulders.

Gene waited a couple of minutes longer until he was certain that she had gone, unsure of whether to sink his head into his hands or pour himself a large measure of whisky. After a few minutes more he decided on the latter option. He couldn't stay too long; they'd all be waiting at Luigi's, Alex included.

He winced a little as he threw the contents of the glass down his throat, never having that kind of reaction before. Truth be told, he didn't really know what he was feeling.

All he was certain of was that he'd have to put a hell of a lot away tonight to even attempt to make sense of everything he'd just heard.

* * *

 **A/N: I admit to knowing next to nothing about psychology, but I had to sneak in a reference there for my girl Alex.**

 **And I'm finally getting to look at things from Gene's POV!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: More of Gene's POV in this chapter! I adore Alex but it's also good to get back into the Guv's head.**

 **(also I'm currently watching Bodyguard and reeling...what has every drama writer got against Keeley, come on guys)**

* * *

 _Chapter 12_

Lying on his back, Gene stared up at the ceiling. He'd been doing the same thing for hours, closing his eyes for brief periods but not really getting anything that could be deemed _sleep_. The birds had started chirping at about half six and he recalled thinking it strange, given that it was near pitch black outside.

The sound of birdsong always unnerved him somewhat. _Why would they want to settle in this shithole?_ Bloody singing away as if everything was fine and dandy. _I only came 'ere because the other options were even worse. And now I can't bloody escape..._

He'd wanted to get up, had the stupid idea of going for a drive around the city while not another soul was at least awake and sober on the streets. Expected that it might clear his head.

 _It'll take a soddin' miracle to achieve that._

He hadn't gone through with it, because he hadn't wanted to disturb the sleeping woman at his side, her body so close that she was almost curled around him. He turned towards her a few times throughout the night, amazed by how peaceful she looked.

To just look at her, at rest with her eyelids closed and her hands crossed over her abdomen, soft breaths escaping her, nobody would expect that there was anything wrong with her.

The notion ran around and around in circles, not so much giving him a headache but making him feel sick to his guts. He could hear her voice in the back of his mind, and where he had become accustomed to the sound of it, going on and on and on and driving him bloody potty, he wanted to shut her up, take back the words she had said to him because now he couldn't ignore them. Couldn't see her the same as he had only hours previously.

 _Funny how a few simple words can change everythin'._ But then again, when had anything ever been _simple_ when it came to Alex Drake?

There wasn't a question that what she had told him was utter bollocks. Being from the future. 2008? _Shouldn't the world 'ave ended by then? With a bit of luck, anyway_. Being Tim and Caroline Price's daughter. Their daughter who was nine years old. The pair of them were funny sorts – he blew them both to bits, which said it all really – so he supposed that it wasn't too far a stretch to imagine that being loony ran through the family tree.

He blanched at the link. Even if it was an inescapable fact he didn't want to think of Bolly like that.

There must be something about him, he considered not for the first time. Tyler had said a lot of strange things and in those seven years he'd never been able to figure most of it out. He acted weird a lot of the time too, but after a while it was something that had just become commonplace. Whenever he felt like he might snap at some crackpot thing that Sam suggested he just got himself down The Railway Arms and drank, until whatever nonsense his DI was spouting seemed halfway comprehensible. It suited him fine.

 _Easier times._

Though there was always something not quite right about Tyler, he never went so far as to claim that he was from the bloody future. It would have been a push, even for him.

It was different with Bolly.

 _Of course it bloody is, you daft sod. You weren't shaggin' Tyler, for one thing._

Well, it had gone past that. He'd felt it long ago, even if he hadn't said anything to her. _She's not stupid, even if she has lost her marbles_. When he drank with her it was in consolation or celebration. He took everything that he had learnt the hard way with Sam and used it to back her up, as well as to impress her. She taught him more and it seemed to sink in quicker. He wasn't quite ready to admit it to anyone other than himself but he thought of her no longer as his posh and mouthy DI or the sexiest woman he'd ever known, who for some unknown and unfathomable reason had made him her lover.

He considered her to be his equal. And now, given everything he knew, he was fucking _terrified_ of the fact.

If it had been a few months ago he suspected that he would have seen to things without hesitation, demanding she hand him her warrant card and dismissing her quicker than it took Ray to blow his chances with any bird he chatted up. He probably would have told her how batshit she was to her face, wounding her deep with the most powerful weapons he owned. Some more mad crap she had convinced him of, that words said in anger and frustration caused more damage than any number of bullets.

Part of him was still disbelieving about how easily he'd taken it. _Stood there like a knobhead while she banged on_. He hadn't wanted to do anything to make it real, give her the acknowledgement. He didn't think he really took it in until he'd already put his arms around her, unable to deal with her crying. And then she looked at him with those doe eyes, asked him what he was fervently hoping she wouldn't.

" _You believe me, don't you?"_

She hadn't given him time to think, never mind give her an answer.

" _Say you believe me, Gene."_

What else was he supposed to have done? He couldn't abide liars. So many he'd come across in his life, all of them scumbags and low lives. The worst of all humankind; they were calculating, capable of the most evil of acts. He wanted to wring the neck of every one he came across.

But there hadn't been another option. He couldn't have done anything other than lie to Bolly in that moment. She was desperate and afraid – and she had good reason to be. It wasn't right but he had to show her kindness. She couldn't have taken the knock down and he couldn't have coped with being the one to deal it.

Never mind that those eyes of hers made him as weak as a kitten.

He'd accumulated enough regret and hatred about himself over the years, this was just another thing to add to the pile. Yet he couldn't help but think that this wound would stay raw for a very long time.

She'd got pissed that evening, he suspected in order to forget the weight of her revelation. He wished that it could have been that easy for him. It worked to his benefit, though. She had pawed at him, hadn't waited until they got back to the flat to do so, although she had saved her clumsy kisses from dropping onto his mouth.

Her giggling had rung in his head; he didn't want to think of it transforming into something more maniacal, wanted to keep her like as she was now for a while longer, the warning signs slight enough to qualify as invisible. With her arms draped around his neck she had become a dead weight soon enough, and settled for him helping her get her clothes off – _Jesus Christ, that had been torture_ – and holding her until she fell into a deep, alcohol-fuelled slumber.

But if she had persisted then he would have given in, in an instant. It made him despise himself, that he could continue to think about her in that way when she was in no fit state mentally. He couldn't switch off his desire for her, just as he couldn't stop his need to protect her. At least he was duty-bound when it came to the latter, to a certain degree.

The space next to him was empty; in his daze it took him a little while to realise the fact. He could hear faint sounds coming from the bathroom and in less than a minute he heaved himself from the bed, making his way through the flat to investigate.

Alex was kneeling upon the hard tiles of the bathroom floor, clad in the shirt he had discarded before climbing into her bed a few hours earlier. Her hair was half-tied back into a short and messy ponytail, and she managed a brief look upwards to take in his figure standing above her before turning back quickly to lower her head over the toilet bowl.

He stayed with her while she retched, rubbing a hand against her back and offering the odd encouraging murmur of his nickname for her. Once she was done he helped steady her to her feet for seconds, offering further assistance as she sat on the edge of the bath fitting. He touched a hand to her face; she looked as white as a sheet.

"Oh god," she muttered, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, "I feel awful."

"I'm not surprised," he answered her, "reckon you got through Luigi's stock for the whole year last night."

She groaned, her head dropping and forcing him to take his hand away.

"You should have stopped me," she began, wincing in pain before she could continue. With one hand she gripped onto the enamel beneath her and then she started to shake her head. "No...no, that's not fair of me. I didn't ask you to feed me wine, it was my own fault."

His eyebrows raised at her unprompted admission. "Bloody hell, Bols. There must have been somethin' in it to change your way of thinkin' so quickly."

She raised her head, meeting his gaze with a small smile. Even when she felt terrible and was obviously worse for wear she still looked bloody beautiful. An ache gnawed at his chest, casting its way throughout his whole body. He should have done more last night.

He should have noticed something was wrong with her much sooner.

"Take the day off," he said after a little while spent simply staring at her, "a few days, if you want."

 _She's gunna 'ave to get used to it._

"The boss, granting me special favours," she snickered. "I'll be fine, honestly. I'll just take...something and I won't know the difference. My hangovers don't last that long."

"If you say so."

He was aware he was still crouching after a few moments, feeling older than he was and stupid for sitting and watching her like she was a child.

"Take it you don't fancy a fry-up, then?"

"Ugh." From the corner of his eye he saw her bringing her hand to her mouth again, though she didn't retch. "I don't know how you can have one sober."

"You're a Southerner, Bols. It's not in yer blood."

He brought her a glass of water instead, stayed in the bedroom while she showered, dressing himself – minus the shirt which Alex still had in her possession. He took the time to look around at all the trinkets she had in her bedroom; everything seemed to be in its place, but at the same time nothing really seemed to be personal to her. He'd observed it before, in passing. He padded over to her dressing table, feeling like he was carrying out an investigation.

 _I can't really be considerin' that she's tellin' the truth._

"Gene?" She caught him unawares as he'd been peering into her jewellery box, of all places. Her eyes looked a hundred times brighter already. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he bounced back on his heels, taking the shirt she offered him and watching her towel off her wet hair with her other hand. "Just...lookin' for somethin'. Me watch. Dunno where I put it last."

"Hmmm," she walked past him, wearing another towel that was doubled over at her chest to hold it in place. She smelled of steam from the shower, soap and fruity shampoo. "I imagine it must be round here somewhere."

He couldn't take his eyes off her, staring at her like a bloody brain-dead fool.

"It'll turn up."

She turned at the sound of his voice, smiling at him while he still looked as guilty as sin. He felt even worse, looking at her, so unaware.

"Gettin' on for Christmas," he felt ridiculous, saying the first mundane thing that popped into his head. He didn't want it to be like this between them from now on. "You must be expectin' to hear somethin' soon. A letter."

Her face quickly fell, shadows gathering in her eyes. "Gene. I don't..."

"Oh, right." He'd realised too late. _Stupid bugger._ "Sorry, I didn't think."

She shook her head, tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead. He begged her not to come closer, wasn't sure that he'd be able to take it. As usual, she did precisely the opposite of what he wanted.

"I don't expect you to think in my terms," she said, placing a hand on his arm. Her palm felt damp. "I'm sorry that I had to lie to you. It was the only thing I could think to do." She looked away from him, too briefly. "But I shouldn't have done it."

He was lost for words temporarily, the proximity and her touch and the thoughts that warred within his head too much in combination.

"You don't need to explain anythin' to me, Alex."

 _Except that she does._

"I wish that I did have letters," she went on, and he could hear the catch in her throat as she spoke, "then I'd have something to hold onto. Something of her."

He knew she was going to cry again, and he felt like such a selfish bastard for praying that she didn't.

"You do 'ave somethin'," he uttered, placing his hands on her bare shoulders. Her eyes were shining as she looked up at him, swallowing back her tears. She smiled faintly again.

"I do," she repeated. "Thank you, Gene."

He shook his head, eased himself back to allow her to go and get dressed without saying anything more. He made his excuses to go, telling her again that there was no need to rush, that the rest of them would have everything in hand should anything arise at the station.

All he was doing was digging a hole for himself, delaying the inevitable.

She wouldn't have anything to thank him for soon enough.

* * *

He peered at the space from the safety of his office, his fingers making a small viewing point in the otherwise closed blinds. Bolly was alternating between her desk and the whiteboard at the head of the room. He couldn't see what she was scribbling, but he could tell that she was rubbing out what she had written near enough no sooner than she'd put it up there. Her face was pensive – precisely the way he'd observed her so many times before – but then her eyes would flash wild, as if she'd been struck by something.

After a little while he couldn't take it, retreating back to his desk. He tried to focus, put his mind on this case, but it was impossible. She was always there at the back of it, calling his name. Asking for his help.

 _I dunno 'ow I'm s'posed to help yer, Bols._

In the end the decision had been straightforward. There was no way he was going to go to the Super – who they were all still trying to figure out, after Mac's demise – and say what was going on with Bolly. If it was out of his hands he didn't know where she would end up. Not another division, that was for certain. The thought of her ending up in a hospital – somewhere worse than that – shattered him.

If she stayed where she was, close to him, at least he could keep an eye on her. He couldn't watch her every second of the day, that was true, but it was the best solution he could think of – and there was no way he trusted anyone else to do what came naturally to him.

He poured out another measure of whisky, sighing as he thought about this bloody case. If it was up to him he wouldn't have her so heavily involved, but then the bloke who was behind these stranglings was messed up in the head. _Bloody psychiatry._ It had its uses; they were already further along than he would have expected. And Bolly was thriving. He hadn't seen her this geared up in a while.

His resolve stayed strong. Once this bastard was safely locked up in a cell little bigger than a shoebox for the rest of his sorry life then he'd scale things back. Keep her off the field and working from a distance. No murder cases. She'd have a lot to say and most of it would be directed at him, but he was ready for it.

 _Even if she won't see it that way, it'll be for her own good._

Her knock on the door jolted him from his thoughts and he stood up as she entered, acting almost as if she were the superior officer.

"I've been putting everything down," she explained, coming closer, "getting it out of my head and making it tangible. And I think...I think it's starting to make sense."

"Well, that's somethin'."

As she leant against the desk he noticed the small evidence bag in the palm of her hand. She had been the one to notice the tag at the crime scene and had come back to it repeatedly since. He had been too troubled by trying to figure out what breed of scum would murder a woman in her fifties and leave her in such a state afterwards. The bruises that circled her neck reminded him too much of his bastard of a father and the marks he had left on his mother.

She raised it up again. " _'You didn't listen'._ Why those words in particular?"

"Probably made some threat," he shrugged, "tryin' to act like the big man."

Bolly's eyes were fixed on the small tag, shrouded in plastic. He could see the flash start to come back behind the green of her irises.

"But he could have placed the emphasis on himself. _'I told you.'_ Instead the blame is put solely upon the victim."

"Scum like that don't take any responsibility for their actions, Bolly. It's our job to make them pay."

She didn't look at him; he felt her slipping away, despite his best efforts.

"And it was tied around her ankle...he could have placed it on her lips, put it on her throat. The place where he'd already stopped her."

He was made of stern stuff but all this raking over was making him uneasy, especially considering how enthused she was.

"What does it matter, in the grand scheme of things?" he blurted out, and as soon as he said it he knew he shouldn't have. He was tearing her down again when he didn't mean to; he just needed her to stop, for her own sake more than anything else.

She looked him in the eyes for the first time in long minutes, connecting to him deep in the smallest of seconds.

"Everything is significant, Gene. This, the smallest of things, means something much bigger. I..."

Her voice broke off and she dropped her gaze. He felt a wave of panic overtake him, not a sensation that he was used to.

"Bols?" he enquired, his own voice sounding weak and small.

She raised her head quicker than he expected, meeting his eyes again with a faint smile.

"Nothing," she answered, as she so frequently and infuriatingly did. The smile on her lips grew wider. "The first day I got here I said the same thing. _Everything is significant_. My brain wouldn't expend energy creating people that I don't need. I could never have thought..."

 _Christ, it's as if she wants to break my heart. But she doesn't know what she's doin'._

She caught her breath back, left what she had started to say hanging in the air and replaced it with something else instead. "I know, it sounds manic."

 _Nice choice of word, Bolly._

"You're a good copper, Alex."

Maybe he was doing the wrong thing. He was trying to justify his actions as well as ease the way for her. He bloody meant it, but it didn't stop the words from sounding hollow.

She smiled softly, so he figured that it couldn't have been the worst thing to say.

"And more than that, I hope."

Her hand was on his arm before he was aware. He was weak for letting her linger, even worse for remaining silent for so long.

"Yeah. Course."

Her smile widened as she drew her hand down slowly, every little stroke of her fingers causing untold agony.

It was as though time had jumped; she was out of his office and back out with the others before he was even properly aware, the ghost of her touch remaining. He watched her there while he still felt her here with him, at her desk for less than a minute before she was facing the whiteboard again, pen gripped in hand.

 _Maybe I'm the one who's losin' it._

Left behind on his desk was the small evidence bag, the words within having burrowed themselves into his brain.

 _Significant_ , she said.

Well he was listening, even if he couldn't understand.

* * *

 _The day was beautiful; she remembered it well. The sun was shining, high in the sky with barely any clouds, just enough of a breeze to be a pleasant accompaniment to the day. Her mother was very busy with a very important case. She had managed to stay for at least some of breakfast until she had to leave for the office, kissing her on her head before she went._

" _It isn't fair that Mummy has to be so busy," she had said, being careful to balance the ice cream cone in her hand, her other held tight with her father's as they made their way to the park._

" _It isn't," he answered in agreement, "but we have each other, don't we?"_

 _She looked up towards him, the bright sun making her squint._

 _He smiled down at her, stopping their tracks to crouch to her height._

" _We'll always have each other. That's a promise."_

 _He held out his smallest finger and after a few seconds she did the same, linking it around his own and pulling._

" _Ouch!"_

 _The sound of her laughter carried on the air, lasting throughout the afternoon as they went around the park, feeding the ducks and playing hide and seek. It was the best day she had had in a long time._

" _Now, we're going to play a different game now. It'll be fun, I promise."_

 _She looked into her father's eyes behind his glasses that he pushed further up the bridge of his nose. She trusted him completely._

" _See those trees, all the way in the distance?" He pointed his arm out, directing her to where he was looking. "I want you to run out to them. Don't stop until you get there."_

 _She wanted to question why; it was a natural impulse with her, even at such a young age. But then she never doubted her father's intentions._

 _In the distance a balloon was floating in the air, escaping from the hand of another child at play._

 _She secured the laces on her shoes before she started to do what her father had asked her, hearing his voice grow quieter behind her the further she got._

" _That's it," he encouraged her, and his shouts made her race even faster, her legs beginning to burn with her effort. "Run, Alex. Run, as fast as you can."_

 _She couldn't go any faster, but she would try her very very best._

" _Don't stop", she was sure that he was saying, though she was so far away that she couldn't hear him now._

 _Never, ever stop._

* * *

Alex huffed, slamming the cupboard door purposely even though she hadn't taken anything out of it. Aside from her anger there was only one thought revolving in her mind; _I should have fought harder._ Damn the fact that Gene was her superior. Such a fact had never troubled her before.

A call had been received less than twenty minutes ago; their suspect was on the move and, in what she considered a strange turn of events, had given his next intended victim forewarning, also by the means of a phone call.

The words went round in her head, echoing. _You didn't listen._

She grabbed her jacket, ready for the off, only to have Gene stop her in her tracks. Clearly he had no intention for her to join himself, Ray and Chris.

" _Guv,"_ she had pleaded, fruitlessly.

" _You're stayin' 'ere."_

She felt as though she was a child again, wanting to argue against a silly decision her mother or father had made, and feeling almost equally helpless as to argue back.

" _That doesn't make any sense. I'm your DI!"_ His hard stare told her that the argument was ineffectual. _"I understand this guy...at least, I think I do."_

It had been playing on her mind, the deeper she had been digging. There were similarities, links that were becoming clearer. She was drawing out the threads and they were starting to intertwine, resisting when she tried to pull them apart.

" _Look,"_ she lowered her voice, even though the others were preoccupied, _"I think there's a connection...between Jed Barnes and what he did, and this guy. I just need more time to figure out exactly why."_

Of course it was all the more important, given the warning Barnes had left her with. _If this is my way back then I have to be involved at every step._

" _Some poor cow has got a call sayin' she'll be done for if she doesn't do what this psycho says. Time is precisely what we don't 'ave right now."_

Of course she understood; the longer she spent pleading her case, the more dangerous it became. But she couldn't give up so easily.

" _Gene, please. Let me help with this."_

For a moment or two she thought she had convinced him, as his eyes met with hers.

" _It's not safe, Bols. A woman-hating nutter on the loose. If he sees you he's gunna go apeshit."_

" _But I'm a trained negotiator..."_

" _You're stayin'. And that is that."_

She was still calculating in her head, couldn't help doing so. At the same time she was muttering under her breath, cursing Gene for keeping her confined. He never would change.

"Everything alright, Ma'am?"

Poor Shaz. The curse of being female, being kept away from the action.

"I knew this would happen. Granted, it took longer than I expected...but it just goes to show. I never should have told him in the first place."

"Okay then," Shaz murmured after a few seconds, backing away from where Alex stood.

"Sorry, Shaz. I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you. Believe me, I'd much rather be taking it out on the Guv."

The younger woman smiled. "Oh, you don't need to tell me, Ma'am. But I'm sure it'll blow over in no time, whatever it is."

Alex felt herself calm somewhat at the sound of Shaz's voice, her breezy and easygoing manner. _Would it be so wrong to tell her, too? She was my first favourite, after all._ They had an affinity, being the only two women at Fenchurch East, and she suspected that out of everyone Shaz would be the least fazed by her tales of being from the future. She'd probably be more concerned about whether they still had Walkmans or not.

She allowed Shaz to make a cup of tea for her as well as for herself, helping out by pouring the milk and stirring. The routine action calmed her, too, even if she was still pissed off at Gene. It'd take a lot for her to get over this one.

"You know what you said," Shaz began, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen, "about _going away_...well, that doesn't stand now, does it? Not that you and the Guv have got so close."

Alex looked at the younger woman as she continued, tidying away and leaving her own mug to go cold. She touched a hand to Shaz's arm, willing her to stop and enjoy the fruits of her labour.

"I'm still going." She felt sad saying it, especially given the look on Shaz's face. "I don't know exactly when yet, but it'll happen."

"Oh," Shaz said simply after a couple of moments. Alex was worried for her, right then. Worried that her potential would forever go unnoticed. "Well, if it's what you really want...then I'm happy for you. Of course I am."

She felt the smile come to her face at Shaz's sincerity. "Thank you, Shaz. That means a lot."

They sipped at their tea, Shaz breaking out the biscuit tin though Alex refused – she didn't have the stomach for them at the moment.

"But what about the Guv?" Shaz asked, a little shower of crumbs leaving her mouth. "I mean, he's really going to miss you."

Alex shook her head, if only to assuage her own guilt. "He'll be fine. In fact, I'm sure that he'll much prefer my replacement, whoever they may be."

The colour drained from Shaz's cheeks. "Don't say that, Ma'am. Nobody could replace you, ever."

"Oh, Shaz. That's nice of you to say."

"I mean it." She started to liven again. "I'm so grateful to you. All the things I've done in this past year or so...I never could have done it without your support."

"It was down to you, not me." All the praise was making her uncomfortable. "I just hope that it continues. Because you _know_ that you deserve more, and that you're more than capable."

There was a faint blush colouring her cheeks now. "Cheers, Ma'am."

"I should be toasting you."

Raising their respective mugs into the air they clinked them together, laughing a little at the absurdity.

"You sure I can't tempt you? Custard creams and everything."

"No, thank you," Alex grimaced. Even the smell was making her nauseous, and also the tea was slightly milkier than she'd usually have it – but then that was her own fault.

"Chris and I have set a date," Shaz announced after a few moments, her eyes lighting up. "Finally, he stopped faffing about."

"Oh, Shaz, that's wonderful. When is it?"

"March 12th. It seems a bit weird, I know, but it was my nan's birthday...and I like to think that even if she can't be there in person, then at least she'll be a part of it in some way." The younger woman frowned for a moment. "That probably sounds silly."

"Not at all," Alex was quick to say, "I think it's lovely, and it'll make it even more special."

"It's a bit selfish of me, but I hope you'll still be here," Shaz said, a little sheepish. "It'd mean a lot to me if you were there."

Alex felt a sharp pang of regret, doubting very much that she would stick around quite so long.

"Anyway, I've already put you and the Guv on the second table, and I've messed about with the plan so much, I'm not rearranging again!"

Alex smiled, overcome with a rush of affection for her younger colleague. "Well, I'll do my best. It'd be an honour, Shaz, it really..."

The room seemed to tip onto its side all of a sudden; she reached her hand out, intending to steady herself on the counter.

"Ma'am? Oh my god!"

* * *

When she came to, she was sitting in her desk chair, slightly confused as to how she had got there. The last thing she had remembered before everything went black was talking to Shaz in the kitchenette, a mug of tepid tea in her hand. Brushing her hand down she could feel that one side of her skirt was damp, which explained what had happened to the remainder of the tea.

"Ma'am?" Shaz was in front of her, a bunched up tea-towel held in one hand. "Thank God, you didn't half give me a fright."

"Shaz..." she stuttered, still feeling woozy. "I don't know..."

"You were fine one moment and then the next you dropped to the floor like a sack of spuds." Shaz's eyes were wide recounting the tale. "You fainted, Ma'am."

"I..."

"It's alright, Ma'am, don't speak. Just have a sip of water."

Shaz held the glass to her lips and Alex didn't so much sip as just moisten her mouth.

"I should call the Guv...he'll go mental if he doesn't know...or maybe I should call the doctor instead."

Alex shook her head, slowly starting to feel more lucid as the seconds passed. "Shaz...it's okay, I'm okay."

The younger woman still had the look of a startled rabbit, fussing around.

"Well, don't move, alright? Just stay there and I'll...do something. You need a custard cream now, get your blood sugar up."

She nodded, though it was still the furthest thing from her mind. Consciousness came back in a flood while she was left alone, the levels righting again. The dampness of her skirt was the most irritating thing to her.

Shaz returned and kept a watch on her, between answering the phone and sorting through files. If anything she felt embarrassed on behalf of Shaz, having to witness such indignity and complete loss of control. Of course, she couldn't help or prevent it. She could count the number of times she had fainted before on one hand.

In fact, the only other incidences had been just before she found out she was pregnant with Molly.

 _Oh, God. Maybe it's just a coincidence. At least I hope it is._

Because she couldn't even begin to comprehend what it would mean otherwise.

* * *

Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the day keeping Shaz from spilling to Gene – mainly through sheer luck – and convinced both him and herself that she was absolutely fine. The team had arrived back in one piece, with their suspect apprehended and thrown hastily in the most rundown cell they had, the way made clear especially. There would be enough time for interrogation tomorrow, particularly as it was fast inching towards beer o'clock.

She didn't feel up to it – not with one matter weighing heavily on her mind, clouding her ability to muster a half-decent excuse. Before they left the station Gene remarked that she was looking peaky. Arousing further suspicion was the last thing she wanted to do but at the same time it gave her the perfect get-out clause. He'd come back to the flat no later than ten, he promised.

More than enough time to discern what was what.

She didn't race to the bathroom once she'd got back upstairs, having bought the tests from the open-all-hours convenience shop. Two packs of two, enough to be on the safe side. Three packs seemed rather excessive, even for her.

Instead she stood in the middle of the sitting room for a few minutes, silently contemplating. Not daring to look into the mirror or turn on the television for fear of what she would be confronted with.

She was already reciting the well-rehearsed apologies in her head.

Enough penance paid she headed inside, closing the door behind her like it somehow mattered. It took a while, her body rebelling against itself, but finally it was done. Nothing to do but sit and count to three hundred, and then again.

God, it had been far more efficient the first time.

Once could well be a fault. Two unlikely, but not impossible if having the same origin.

Another six hundred. She half expected Gene to knock at any moment, the time it felt like it was taking.

The odds shrunk with three. With four there was no mistake.

Eight faint lines standing in a row.

 _Shit._

 _I'm so sorry, Molls. So very, very sorry._

Her daughter wasn't the only one she apologised to, although she was the one who deserved her hollow-sounding words the most. She said sorry to Gene – in her head, as he lay next to her, sleeping soundly throughout the night, remaining completely oblivious. She didn't know where she would begin. He shifted in his sleep, mumbling something and moving his hand from her hipbone to her stomach, as though he already knew.

She said sorry to them, the unborn child that lay within her. _This isn't your fault._

Concern, worry and sorrow for all three kept her awake until the exhaustion caused her to surrender.

She wouldn't dare spare some mercy for herself.

The clock used to reset itself each morning, but she'd lost track of when it had stopped.

"You look loads better, Ma'am," Shaz chirruped, holding a small stack of folders to her chest.

"That's what 'appens when you get some special attention from the Gene-Genie," Gene announced from behind her back.

She saw Shaz grin before swiftly moving away.

"Can send Ray in for this one," he said, meeting her eyes as she turned around, feeling like she was moving in slow motion, " 'e could do with the challenge."

She shook her head, even though she felt a touch dizzy. "I should be there."

She could see the shadows emerging from the pupils of his eyes. "If 'e says the slightest thing to you..."

 _For God's sake, he's overreacting already._

"I can handle myself. Besides, I've got the magic powers of the Gene-Genie surrounding me, haven't I?"

His lips quirked in approval.

"Well, I reckon 'e can serve to stew a little while longer. I'll get you in half an hour."

She smiled with effort, sitting down before she could keel over. Her desk had become a mess without her seeming to realise and she sighed as she started to rearrange the files that had been extracted and piles of notes she had made. There was so much clutter that she nearly missed the small envelope, the type that belonged to a bouquet of flowers. The connection was there but the appropriate synapses didn't quite light up strongly enough to produce a shiver.

Taking less than a couple of seconds to rip it open, it took her at least three readings before her brain kicked into action. The hand was indistinct, letters etched in block capitals with no specific addressee.

And still it seemed to speak to her.

' _Run, as fast as you can.'_


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

The morning was bitterly cold, a surprise that it hadn't started to snow. She had wrapped herself up with a scarf, wearing her rainbow-striped jumper underneath the white jacket. It wasn't the heaviest one she owned and she started to regret her choice now. She hadn't wanted to look too bulky.

Her gaze dropped to her middle, unnoticeable and unchanged to the eye, yet she already felt different. Really, the intuition of her body should have told her sooner.

Directly behind her Ray was alternating between complaining about being up so early on a Saturday and taking the piss out of Chris who was sleeping in the seat next to him, head craned back and snores escaping his mouth, bouncing against the car's interior. He remained completely oblivious, even when Ray started to balance coins and other foreign objects upon his face, providing an inherently childish form of entertainment.

And then there was Gene. He was as he often was now, largely silent aside from the odd word of rebuke to the two detectives in the back. Even then his volume didn't reach even a gentle roar, the sound of the Quattro's humming engine as he brought its speed a little faster outdoing him. His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed upon the road. Considerate, careful, almost contemplative in a way that she had only encountered a handful of times, though they had all happened fairly recently.

Guilt washed over her with equal intensity as the nausea she was battling. It had been a week and she hadn't yet figured out how she was going to tell him. Even the way she was going to phrase it was causing her untold trouble. Half of her was hoping that it would be enough for him to notice that she had turned almost teetotal, which surely was the biggest alarm bell given the quantities of alcohol she was so used to consuming.

 _There's something you should know._

 _You know all that throwing up I've been doing lately?_

 _Something's going to change for us._

She thought back to how she had broken the same news to a different man, years past, years that were still to come.

 _You're going to be a father. I'm pregnant._

She had begun to mourn Molly properly in the last seven days, though she was aware she was only scratching the surface, picking at the edges. The infrequent illusions had been a comfort to her, kept the fading memories vivid in her mind. Now it hurt more than any other pain she had experienced to be as certain as she could be that those blurry images and uncertain remembrances were all that remained of her daughter. Because this meant that there was no turning back; her connection to this world had become too strong, ties well and truly binded by what her and Gene had created.

There were options, she had considered briefly, but they had never been tangible ones. It was unthinkable for her to get rid of a child as though it were nothing more than an inconvenience or mistake. Her head might have framed it in that manner but her heart was soft. Molly had made it that way since the day she arrived.

Having a child with the man you love was a blessing. She had loved Pete and remembered the elation she felt, not made any less by how everything ended up turning out. She was certain that she loved Gene even more. If it wasn't for Molly she would call him the love of her life. It didn't help to keep the same thought in her mind but she also couldn't get past it, tortured herself relentlessly with the impossibility. _If only the circumstances were different._

 _You can't have everything you want. It doesn't work like that._

She felt like building some kind of shrine for Molly. A memorial. More than anything she wanted to let her know that she would never forget her, would always love and cherish her. She was her first born and that would never change, even if the mechanics were out of sequence.

At the same time it was possible for her to have just as much love for this child – who for the time being looked just like Molly did when she was born in her mind's eye. Not a replacement, never that. Someone entirely new, with just as much of her heart in their ownership.

The car came to a sharp halt, causing her to grab out for the dashboard with one hand and shield her stomach with the other, entirely instinctively.

"Urgh," Chris garbled, his head jerking swiftly up and an array of items falling from his face onto the seat and floor, "what the 'ell...where am I?"

"Twonk," Ray struggled to hold back his laughter. "D'you know you talk in yer sleep? _'Ooh, Shazza...just there...do it harder.'_

"Shut up, I don't!" Chris said quickly, his flushed face reflected in the rear-view mirror.

"Mate, that's gunna keep me goin' for a week. I'll struggle to get out of 'ere as it is."

"Shaz is right. You are a bloody pervert."

"Do you know, I think I'd be better off employin' a pair of twelve year olds on the verge of puberty than you two," Gene broke his lengthy silence, craning his head to the gap between the front and back seats, "they'd be a damn sight more bloody sensible!"

They moved in a procession from the car to the building, Gene leading the charge to where they would find the pathologist.

"Ladies first," he said, stepping aside to let Alex enter.

"You 'eard the Guv," Ray quipped, holding out an arm to gesture that Chris should go ahead of him.

"You're not funny, Ray," Chris answered sulkily.

The room had a strange blue tinge that she could never get used to and was several degrees colder than it was outside. She folded her arms tight against herself in a feeble attempt to stave off the chill, feeling her teeth chattering hard against her jaw.

"What was so important that it couldn't wait until at least midday, then?" Gene questioned the pathologist, an unimpressed pout firmly in place.

"I hope that you all had breakfast a while ago," the pathologist answered with grim foresight.

There was a delay before he pulled back the sheet that covered the body to the waist, which did not succeed in preparing them.

"Sodding _Christ_ ," Ray muttered in disbelief.

Alex's hand shot up to her mouth, the urge to retch almost overwhelming. Thankfully the sensation passed quicker than she expected it to, leaving her with the underlying nausea and shockwaves that settled upon the surface of her skin.

The woman before them was pale, but not in the unnatural way that most corpses appeared; her lips and cheeks still seemed to hold a tinge of colour. What was unmissable were the gaping wounds that sliced across her chest, the blood long since dried but still evidencing the rage and pain that had been inflicted.

"I'd estimate that she was stabbed at least seventy or eighty times. It could be anything up to two hundred, realistically."

Gene and the pathologist entered into a short volley of questions and answers, although there wasn't really that much to establish, the truth of the matter being plain to see. She'd spent her fair share of time stood in rooms like this, doing her best to separate the analytical and emotional sides of herself as she looked upon body after body, life after life that had been needlessly snuffed out. The sheer violence of this particular instance shocked them all into silence.

As he went on the pathologist lowered the sheet to indicate a couple of smaller injuries further down the body, nothing compared to the mess that had been made of the victim's chest. Alex honed in on the faint scar that run across the lower abdomen, denoting a previous Caesarean section.

"Who would want to do that?" Chris asked to nobody in particular as they made their way back outside, "so close to Christmas an' all."

"There are a lot of sick bastards in the world, Christopher," Gene said in reply, "and it's our job to catch them. Old Saint Nick doesn't know 'e's born, the jammy sod, working one night of the year. Meanwhile 'ere we are, freezing our respective bits and bobs off while it's still bloody dark outside to see some poor cow get turned into a pin cushion."

Alex was still too shaken by what she had seen to say anything, not that the conversation progressed all that much. She was somewhat thrown off by how it could quickly become so trivial after the horror of what they had just witnessed.

"It's so hard now that Shazza's my fiancée."

"Ey, I bet it is."

"I'm talkin' about presents," Chris went on to clarify, dismissing Ray's smutty comment. "I dunno what I'm gunna get 'er. Everythin' I think of...well, it just doesn't seem good enough."

"An iron and an ironing board," Ray supplied, "there you go, two for the price of one."

"Nah, I was goin' to get those as wedding presents."

There was a bit of blessed silence – a break from the inanity – but not for long enough.

"You know what the problem is? You're thinkin' about what _she_ wants. We all know that women are never satisfied, no matter how much you spend on them. You should get 'er somethin' _you_ ' _ll_ want." Ray sounded incredibly proud of his suggestion. "A nice skimpy nightie. One of those peek-a-boo things. She'd look just the ticket in that."

"Yeah..." Chris said dreamily, before he twigged that it wasn't the most appropriate thing for his friend to say. " 'ang on a minute."

"Ey, Ma'am," Ray went on, ignoring the look that Chris was fixing him with, "what're you gettin' the Guv for Christmas? Somethin' big, I hope."

A fresh wave of nausea washed over Alex as she considered. _If only you had any idea._ She wasn't going to wait that long to tell Gene about the baby, she promised herself. She did still need to get used to the idea first, though.

"I can't tell you, Ray. That would spoil the surprise."

Her attempts to sound flippant felt wrong, when she was grappling with something so serious.

The retort silenced the Detective Sergeant for all of a few meagre seconds. "Or rather somethin' small, ey? I think he'd much prefer that. Somethin' barely there, in fact...I s'pose the thing we really need to know, Ma'am, is 'ave you been naughty or nice?"

Gene, who had thus far opted to be voluntarily deaf, decided it was high time to chip in.

"Raymondo, if you don't shut up pronto I'll 'ave it seen to that your balls are replaced with lumps of coal."

He gave a sideways glance to her, taking his eyes off the road momentarily. His foot slammed harder upon the accelerator pedal, no doubt with the hope of getting to their destination sooner. The speed did nothing to help the jittering in her stomach.

"Gene," she said low, resisting the urge to reach her hand out towards his arm, "can you...slow down, please?"

His eyes were upon her again, briefly, and with that addition he acquiesced to her request without further delay. From the backseat she was waiting for another crude remark to come from Ray but instead he said nothing.

Chris and Ray were dropped off at their respective houses, Gene coming to the conclusion that getting them up at six o'clock of a Saturday morning had been quite enough overtime. Shaz was waiting at the door in her dressing gown for Chris, waving towards Alex with a smile before her fiancé made it inside, pinning a kiss to his cheek. The picture was one that made her sentimental and filled with sorrow all at once, knowing that life could never be that simple.

"Bols," she heard Gene's voice through the echoing that populated her mind. Turning her head towards him and seeing the look in his eyes she had the feeling it wasn't the first time he had called for her. "You've been quiet. Do I 'ave reason to be worried?"

Her heart contracted at his words of concern.

"No," she replied with a murmur, unable to raise her voice much louder. "I'm just missing Molly."

Which was the truth, she always did. But from now she would miss her all the more, knowing it was incredibly likely that she would never see her again.

"I'm sorry, love," he offered, enough of a comfort for her. "S'pose she likes all this Christmas malarkey?"

"Yes," a smile lifted her lips at the memory of Molly's giddy excitement at the particular time of year, "she loves it. Once I stopped believing in Father Christmas I didn't really care too much, but Molly got me back into the feeling of it all."

"It was always crap for us," he replied, the return of unhappy memories furrowing his brow. "My old man took 'eat, drink and be merry' too literally, except he drank more instead of eatin' and instead of bein' merry he was even more of a miserable, violent bugger than on any other day of the year. There was sod all in our stockings but we did get a few belts, instead."

"Oh, Gene," she said, her heart aching for him, "I'm so sorry, you shouldn't have had to go through that."

His head hung low for a couple of seconds, and then he shook off the darkness as quickly as it had encroached.

"S'alright, Bolly. Lot's 'appened since then." He paused for a moment further. "Stu topped 'imself the day after Bonfire Night. Everyone reckoned he was so off his 'ead that it was a coincidence, but I'm sure it's 'cause 'e wanted to be out of it before bloody Christmas came around again."

Part of her was starting to rethink her previous intentions. She didn't want to tempt fate – if such a thing existed – but it was clear that he needed a reason to see the festive season in a better light. Perhaps giving him the news that she fervently hoped he would find happy would do just that.

"I know what I'm gettin' you, anyway."

She met his eyes again, her curiosity sparked. A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth seeing her expression shift.

"A decent bloody coat, instead of that thing. Got a feelin' it's gunna be a long, hard winter, Bollykecks."

* * *

It was like déjà vu. Being in the same room, sitting opposite a man in his thirties with a vaguely downtrodden, despondent look about him. Gene occupied the chair next to her, reliably. The last two times he had taken the lead but she felt different today. Strong and assured. She was going to head the charge, had enough control to do so.

Gene was leaning back against his chair, angled away from the heavy table. Clearing the way for her.

"Robbery gone wrong. You could have walked away." She paused, for effect or real meaning she wasn't sure. "Why didn't you?"

The man in front of her – or more accurately, positioned between her and Gene – gave a singular shrug of his shoulders, bobbed his chin.

"I dunno," he said, half mumbling. "It wouldn't 'ave felt right."

 _Interesting choice of words._

"It wasn't your idea, was it? To go to that house in particular. You'd never been to the area before. Had to get the bus twice beforehand to get your bearings." She stared hard towards him – not the main suspect but more than just a stooge. "You would have preferred to stay closer to what you knew."

"It's not my choice. Jimmy said it would be worth it. Do somethin' different. He knows what 'e's about. I don't."

He had dropped his head, examining his lap intently, his hands fidgeting and picking off bits of skin. Alex watched intently, cataloguing the movements, looking for things that other people wouldn't notice.

In a split second he jolted, his gaze meeting hers unexpectedly, staring back with just as much intensity as she had shown. It would have been natural to have been thrown off guard but she clung on, fingers digging against the denim of her jeans, hard enough to pierce through to skin.

"But that's alright, though. 'e told me that. It's the way you're born. You can't 'elp it."

She leant back a little as she processed the information he had given, subconsciously. Gene's eyes were upon her; she felt the weight of his gaze.

"Is it your instinct to defer? To him, in particular. Do you never think about using your own agency?"

There was a stretch of silence, making the room a vacuum.

"What she's sayin'," Gene moved to intervene, "is when Saint Jimmy says jump, do you get a ruler out to measure 'ow bloody high?"

"I do what I'm told," he replied, looking now at Gene, ignoring her completely. "It's what I'm good at."

"Are you scared of him?" she asked, needing to get his attention back, feeling somewhat envious of Gene that he could command such power with a single question.

He was mumbling again, an answer that she couldn't make out.

"Are you in awe of him? Do you _love_ him?"

"Jesus Christ, no!" _The desired effect._ "I'm not a poofter."

Alex restrained a smile, kept her composure in place. "There's something between you, though. He holds a power over you and you let him rule you."

Another bout of deafening silence before he shifted within his chair, looked between the both of them. "I don't mind. He picked me up from the gutter, let me along side 'im. I dunno what else I can do to say I'm grateful."

 _Ah, obvious. Well, this is going to be easy from here._

"You handed him the knife. You're aware that makes you an accessory. Eligible for manslaughter."

He nodded. Even though she understood on a psychological level the notion was still baffling to her.

"Did you know he was going to kill Miriam Kennedy? Not just kill, but mutilate her. One hundred and ninety two separate wounds. They've been counted."

"I didn't."

She surged forward, one of the legs of the chair wobbling slightly beneath her.

"I don't believe you."

His voice raised, creating an echo that bounced from the walls. "I didn't, I swear. Look, Jimmy 'as these plans. Everythin' down to the last little detail, it's really important to 'im. But then sometimes 'e swerves off them, without tellin' anyone. It's like somethin' just snaps. And I s'pose that's what 'appened."

She expected nothing further from this unfailingly loyal foot-soldier, willing to give over his own life to honour that of his leader. His pause had been to merely gather breath.

"It was horrible. She was dead after the first twenty or thirty, but 'e wouldn't stop. As 'e was doin' it, 'e was sayin' this stuff. Chantin' it."

"What _stuff_?" she questioned. "A prayer? Do you remember any of it?"

"I dunno, I'd never 'eard it before...it sounded like poetry or somethin' but I dunno for sure. 'e's the well-to-do one, I don't understand all that."

"I know the feelin'," Gene interjected wryly.

She couldn't stop herself from getting to her feet, her body physically compelling her.

"Can you remember any of it at all? Even a couple of words?"

 _It must be important. Everything is significant._

"I dunno..."

 _God, it's like listening to a broken record._

"Come on!" Her shout echoed around her own head as she slammed a palm down upon the table top. "Think. It has to be in there."

"Er..." he fumbled for the memory, she could almost see the cogs turning within his brain, his eyes flickering as they tried to keep up. "Somethin' about a tide...and innocence, maybe...I can't remember."

She knew that, remembered studying it at school. _Keats, wasn't it?_ Everything felt fuzzy suddenly, like all of her thoughts had been picked apart at the seams.

It felt as though someone was chipping away at her brain with a chisel, getting closer and closer...

"Eh, Missis, are you alright? You don't look too good."

Whirring, whirring and so much noise. So loud and high, like it was piercing straight into her frontal lobe.

"That's DI Drake to you, sunshine. Show a bit of bloody respect. Or is that reserved for your sorry excuse of a leader?"

She tried to focus with everything she had but she couldn't hear above the sounds that screamed into her ears and her head, which was also rapidly causing her vision to blur and the whole room to spin. In the next second her knees buckled, the floor being pulled from beneath her.

Before she could crash down Gene's arms were around her, one at her waist and the other at her shoulder, propping her up against him.

"Bolly," he whispered into her ear, hardly comprehensible against the screeching that reverberated.

Still clutching onto her he leaned over, finger poised to press down upon the tape recorder.

"Interview suspended, seven minutes past twelve. You don't move a muscle, not even to break wind, you 'ear me?"

She felt heavy and weightless at once, aware of Gene dragging her out of the interview room and into the corridor, walking until reaching a chair and kneeling in front of her as he righted her in place upon the seat.

"Bloody hell, Bols. I'm pretty sure that the bloke just crapped 'imself, and I wasn't too far behind. What's goin' on?"

It took her some effort to speak, her hand fumbling against his wrist as his hand cupped her face, the sense of touch a substitution for stolen words.

"It's my head...oh God, Gene, it hurts!"

She winced as the pain hit her full force, worse than she had experienced for a long time. His other hand followed the first, cradling her head in an attempt to make the pain go away.

"I'm takin' you home."

"No...no," she managed to mumble as his arm slipped to her waist, "give me a few moments, I'll be okay..."

"Alex, are you' jokin'? Yer not okay, love."

In a swift movement he gathered her to him, held her tight to his frame. Though she was disorientated, apparently not in control of either her limbs or senses and more frightened than she had ever been she also felt undeniably safe in his arms, comforted by his enduring touch.

"Come on, let's get you out of 'ere."

She managed a few faltering steps for herself but Gene carried her most of the way, taking her easily up the stairs. She murmured against his neck, short sighs she hoped might dispel the pain, clinging onto him and reluctant to let go even when he lowered her to the bed. It still seemed to feel warm from where they had lain together only hours previously.

"You just lie there, alright?" His hands brushed against her as he gathered the sheets over her body. "Get some sleep. Yer workin' yerself too hard, you know."

She shook her head against the pillow, as much as she could stand against the waves that pulsed against her brain. Her hand reached out for him where he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm fine...I will be..."

"Alex," he said, his tone cautious. His fingers slipped into the spaces between hers, thumb rubbing over the curve of her hand. "Somethin's not right...you know as well as I do, love."

She was only half-listening, dipping in and out. The pillow cool and soothing against her temple, Gene's hand warm against hers. She felt herself slipping, a little further which each second that passed.

"Shaz...she told me that you fainted. I dunno why you felt you had to 'ide it."

"That's not to do with this," she murmured in reply, turning over onto her back. A smile crept onto her lips. "It's okay. I'm okay."

His hand let go of hers but he stayed stroking the sleeve of her blouse, the action soothing the pain much more than anything she could achieve on her own.

"You need a break. I'm not takin' no for an answer anymore."

She wanted to argue, tell him that was the last thing she needed, but she could not muster the energy, certainly not in her current state.

He moved away from her eventually; she could hear his footsteps faint upon the floor, recognised the loss of his touch. She turned back onto her side, pressing the side of her head that hurt the most into the soft pillow.

"Gene..." she called out his name, not knowing whether he was still there or not.

"Yes, Bols."

"You are happy, aren't you?" The smile poised to take up residence once more on her face, even though she felt wretched.

The silence draining the sound from her mind as she waited for his answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm 'appy."

A beacon of light shimmered against her closed eyes.

"Good," she murmured, her voice almost completely muffled. "Because I'm happy too."

* * *

She was groggy when she woke up, uncertain of where she was at first. The pain against her head – within her head – remained, though it had certainly lessened in its intensity. Now it was only a dull ache stretching across her forehead.

The red figures on the alarm clock pulsated before her eyes. 14.33. It felt as though she had slept much longer than that.

There had been a dream, which she had not expected in her agonised state. It had been wonderful. Molly was with her, and so was Gene, and the three of them were beside themselves with joy staring down at the baby swaddled in her arms. The baby had her lips and Gene's eyes, and somehow she could see Molly in their cherubic face too. Molly couldn't stop smiling, reaching her hands into the bundle of blankets, giggling as a tiny hand poked at her own. She was going to make the best big sister and Alex could not have been prouder. Gene kissed the crown of her head as she lay in the hospital bed, the warmth of sunshine spilling in through the window.

A perfect vision of a life that could not possibly be, the two halves of her heart unable to fit together.

She lay on her back, blinking slowly towards the ceiling. Her hand naturally rested upon her abdomen, fingers inching beneath the hem of her blouse and stroking against her skin. She tried to remember how long it took for her to show before. She wasn't even sure how far gone she was; nine or ten weeks, perhaps? Another child born in the summer.

Her eyes closed briefly, fumbling in the dark for an image buried somewhere she could not seem to reach far enough for.

 _I promise, Molls, nothing will ever take your place._

The knock on the door roused her back to the here and now, getting to her feet slowly. She took longer than she would do normally, still hazy from sleep and disorientated by the time of day. The measured knocking persisted and she felt like telling it to hush as she was quite unable to hurry her pace along.

The one thing she could distinguish is that it wasn't Gene, unless he had altered his usual style to take her current temperament into account.

"Just a moment," she uttered as she fumbled with the handle.

When she opened the door she was certain that her heart stopped momentarily in her chest.

"Hello, Alex," the voice addressed her calmly. "We meet again."

* * *

 **A/N: Gah - cliffhangers. Sorry.**


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

"Aren't you going to let me in? You were so hospitable before."

The smile curving his mouth was subtle, sparking greater in his eyes which were darker than previously. She blinked furiously, her mouth once more unable to form speech.

 _I must still be dreaming. That's the only possible explanation._

How else could it be that Martin Summers was standing at her door?

"You're...I saw it happen." Her words had been recovered but they were emerging in a jumble, mixing with her thoughts, full of confusion and dread that crept slowly, infecting what she believed had been cured. "You were shot. You died. I saw it."

"Well, I know there's the phrase about seeing being believing but I don't think it applies when it comes to you. Not with all that going on in your head. I feel your pain, Alex, I really do. But then, I've also found the cure."

He stepped forward without invitation, before she could think to slam the door in his face. It was as though her brain had come to a stand-still, too baffled to comprehend what was happening as well as being crippled by the incredible pain she had felt. With his appearance it had started to rise up again.

"Don't look so confused," he said, almost empathetic. "You must have known that I was going to come back, that it wasn't going to end there."

"I don't...I don't understand. You're dead."

It wasn't an illusion. She knew what she saw, what she smelt and experienced. The body on the ground, life ended within the space of a few seconds, the gun that had killed him pressed to her temple.

The horrific thought occurred to her. Had the dream she had not long experienced been a glimpse of heaven? A heaven that could not exist, torn from her grasp to be replaced by something that was much more fitting for her demise.

"Am _I_ dead?"

There was a breath of silence before Summers chuckled. "No, Alex. You're not dead. You've got to stop coming back to that." He paused, walking closer towards her instead. She took steps backwards, desperate to be out of his sight. "What is it you're always telling everyone else? _Think_."

Oh, she was trying. But every thought – even the most outlandish amongst them – led her back to the same place.

"I'll help you out then," he said, his tone far from generous. "They never found an ID, did they?"

"No," she began. "But I thought that was because you were from...because you'd stopped existing here." By his own volition.

A smile stretched upon his face. "You see, Alex, that's the trick. I don't have an identity any more. You can't kill someone who doesn't exist."

"Did you...?" She was too fearful to say it, lest it turn the same way for her.

"Die, in 2008?" He finished the sentence for her. "Yes. There was too much trauma, I was never going to recover. It happened the same night that I turned the gun on my younger self. Purely coincidental. But it had an up side. Meant that I became invincible."

She shook her head, horrified and perplexed by the notion. "That's not possible."

"You have your gun?"

She shook her head again.

"Ah, that's a shame. It would have come in useful. Never mind." He reached into the inside pocket of his long coat, pulling out a shooter. "Calm down. I just want to prove it to you."

He raised the barrel to his head, finger poised on the trigger. Her scream covered the sound of the gunshot and she shut her eyes instinctively. There was silence, that terrible smoky scent filling up her senses.

"Open your eyes, Alex."

His voice was still there but that could have well been a figment, conjured by her broken and brittle mind.

Sure enough when she looked again he remained, appearing a little younger if anything.

"What do you want?" she questioned, unable to keep the shake out of her voice. She still wasn't sure whether she wasn't hallucinating this entire encounter, that notion making much more sense than an invincible, unperishable Summers. "You've got your revenge. Carnegie's career is over. Your disgrace has become his."

"It'll never be enough," he said, his tone cold and emotionless. "Do you have any idea how far the poison reaches? They infected everywhere. All of us. I know where I belong now. Where I should have been all along."

"Tell me, then. Let's talk about it."

His smile wavered. "It's a bit late for that. A bit late for you as well. The poison's in you, Alex. You couldn't help yourself."

He lowered the gun that was still held in his hands, trailed its aim down her body until he stopped at her stomach.

"No," she gasped, freezing in shock. "No, you can't."

"My god, he really has taken you in, hasn't he? Don't you see," his words were filled with venom as he spat them, his eyes growing black as he stared at her, "Hunt is the worst of them all."

She was near tears as he continued to point the gun towards her, her throat burning. "I don't believe you."

"The signs have all been there. You were figuring it out, doing so well, and then he distracted you. That's where you put a foot wrong. But he's not here to help you now."

 _Okay, I just need to focus. Focus and concentrate, and then whatever this illusion is will fade away._

Pain continued to radiate throughout her body, intensifying the closer Summers got.

"I'm here to save you, Alex. Offer you the cure you've always been after. The thing you've been fighting for for so long."

 _You could never save me. Never._

She'd reached the bedroom, shut the door to block out the strange figure and crouched to the floor. To her surprise he did not follow inside, though the sound of his laughter reverberated through the walls, louder than ever.

"Hiding's not that easy. Remember what I said? Nobody walks this world alone, Alex. And so, you see, I've got a couple of friends to help."

A bullet blasted through the door, ricocheting from the wall, and she let out a scream before she had the chance to see, otherwise any sound would have been stolen from her in pure shock.

Standing in the doorway, where Summers had been stopped moments previous, was Layton. Hair in greasy waves around his face, the same overcoat and sunglasses he had been wearing when he had shot her in 2008.

"No..."

His sinister smile sent her heart pounding, scrambling up again as he lowered the shields, looking at her in the eyes, keeping the same aim as Summers had.

"Long time, no see, Alex. Actually, it hasn't been that long, has it? You had a lucky escape."

She turned as he followed her round the room, breaking into a run through the flat and heading for the door. Sounds of various objects smashing onto the floor trailed her, Layton's footsteps in pursuit, landing heavily as they descended each step of the staircase.

"You keep getting away, and I don't like that. Never like leaving a job half-finished..."

The bottom of the staircase was shadowy and she suspected she could fool him by ducking into the hidden nook which led out to the fire escape. She contorted her frame, keeping her breathing as near-silent as she could, seeing shadows dance past her eyes. One hand was held to her chest, tracking the rate of her heart, slowing but still faster than was normal.

 _Just breathe. Breathe in and out, in and out, and focus._

It was hopeless to do so but she couldn't stop herself from calling out in her mind, keeping a desperate grasp on the chance that Gene might somehow know that she was in despair, as he had done so before, and drop everything to ride to her rescue.

Silence filled the space around her; neither could she distinguish the smoking scent of the gun and the other smells that clung to Layton. Daring a little she exhaled loud enough to let her breath be audible.

"BOO!"

A harsh light shone into her eyes but she did not stay in place long enough to blink it away, taking off into the daylight, the boots that she hadn't taken off pounding against the pavement.

She did not pause to look behind her and determine how close he was, knowing that all she would be aware of was the gleam of the barrel trained upon her.

"Where we going, Alex? Down to the river? That'd be nice, go full-circle..."

Her breath was tight in her chest, her legs aching nearly as much as her head was pounding. It screamed at her to _stop_ but she defied its pleas, went against every rhyme and reason to fight for her survival.

"It's no use," Layton's voice was closer than she imagined it should be, "run all you want. I'm not letting you get away this time. Game's almost over."

Her efforts were still focused on moving, doing everything she could to shake off the deceptively tangible phantom following her, but she found some energy to vocalise her defiance too.

"I know you're not real. Leave me alone! Just go away, whatever you are!"

 _Left foot down, inhale. Right foot down, exhale._

 _The pain is so much. Maybe I can stop for a second._

"Don't be angry with me, Alex. I only wanted things to be right."

The voice that had changed once more hit her straight in the heart. It took her a few seconds to pull herself up, her pulse tight in every nerve as she worked up the courage to glance over her shoulder.

The face of her father looked back at her, arms held at his sides.

Her childish hope and love rushed back to her, despite everything she had come to learn. Her eyes filled with tears as she gasped in a deeper breath, staring towards the man who had been her idol for so long. His smile was soft, reassuring.

She began to take steps forward, believing that she was safe. _He never meant to hurt me._

"I've missed you, my Alex. Missed you so much. But it won't be long until we can be together again, properly."

In the time it took for her to pace another two steps he raised his arms, pointing the gun with a sure steadiness towards her, his eyes turning from softness to hard steel.

"No," she breathed, her quiet utterance shifting swiftly to a scream. "NO!"

She turned again, her body nowhere near recovered from its brief respite.

"Run, Alex. Just like I told you to. Run as fast as you can. You won't feel a thing, I promise. Then you'll be back with us again."

 _No, no. I can't die, not here._

She slowed herself down by looking over her shoulder, horrified when she found that her father had transformed himself into the clown figure from her nightmares – or was it her reality? – painted white.

"Go away. This isn't real. It's not real!"

She ran faster still, breathing unsteadily, until she came face to face with a brick wall which blocked her path. Frantic with fear, feeling the blood rush around her body, she looked left and then right and found that both ways curved about, offering no exit onto another street.

The world seemed to be shifting rapidly, changing its structure with each breath that she exhaled.

With no way forward she turned slowly, not recognising the figure that was now inching towards her. A man in his early thirties with dark hair that was slicked back upon his head, glasses that were thickly rimmed at the top. His expression was straight but his lips started to curve as he came closer.

His hand was unwavering as he held the gun, using her abdomen as a target.

"I wasn't sure I'd get the pleasure, Alex." His voice sent shivers spiralling through her and agonising shards to stab pointedly at her brain. "Although I'm afraid our acquaintance will be short-lived. We could have made a great team. If only someone else hadn't got there first."

He was all she could think of. _Gene. Where are you?_

"I know that you're clever. You should have listened to your instincts. Can't turn the clock back though, can we?" The smile inched higher, crooked upon his face. "Well, you did, but you messed everything up so I'm afraid it doesn't count."

Her breath rattled in her throat, her limbs shaking so much that she believed she might disappear into thin air.

"Please," she uttered, tilting her head to reason once more, though she was aware that her time had run short.

The man mirrored her, giving her the illusion that he was considering mercy.

" _Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer,"_ he recited, the words jumping up from the depths of her mind, " _things fall apart, the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world."_

A tear ran down her cheek to her shame, her bottom lip unable to stop from quivering.

A wider grin emerged on the face that stared into her own.

"Any last words? I hope you've thought of something good."

Only one came into her head, echoing from every cavern.

She opened her mouth but the bullet hit her before she could say anything. She gasped sharply instead, her hand lowering to her stomach, the blood warm as it poured from the wound against her splayed fingers.

Clutching onto the place where she had been shot, trying to make a useless attempt to save what was never meant to be, she crumpled onto the ground, eyes wide as she looked towards her final assailant, the figure blurring before her weakening eyes.

In her head heartfelt apologies bloomed amidst the agony, the tears drying tight upon her cheeks as the last of the life flowed from her body onto the pavement in a crimson tide, spots of wet white descending down from the sky.

The breath was leaving her quick, more rapidly than she expected. She fought against the fluttering of her eyelids, the weakness in her limbs, the urge to say her final word the only driving force she had left.

The snow falling against her eyes was the last thing she saw, pain searing up to her ribs as she breathed, the most incredible effort she'd ever made.

"Gene..."

* * *

He found himself in a familiar spot, boots planted upon the landing, their toes nudging towards the closed door. The night had come to an early end, probably because everyone was too rat-arsed to continue it much longer. Even Viv had got hammered.

Beer had flowed for hours in the trattoria, accompanied by chatter which steadily rose in volume with the more alcohol that was consumed. Chris and Ray batted a series of dares back and forth, both determined to be the winner, their pursuits drained by raucous laughter from the rest of the team. All the while he watched on from a corner, nursing his third and final pint of the night which put him well behind everyone else – Shaz excluded as she sipped on her vodka and coke.

He didn't feel put out in his exclusion. Those sort of games were well behind him, anyway. All he was bothered about was them keeping the noise down, eyes raising to the ceiling. Getting pissed was no fun if Bolly wasn't there to drink him under the table. He didn't have the inclination but he also wanted to keep his head clear so that he could look after her if she required the assistance. She'd been fairly out of it when he had put her to bed much earlier that day – truth be told, her delirium had scared him witless – but the hours had passed, and by now she was probably awake and sitting on that sofa of hers, the pattern of which was enough to give him a migraine on its own.

He stood outside the flat like a wally for longer than was appropriate, hands balled awkwardly in his pockets. _This is ridiculous._ How was it that he felt like a school-boy thinking of her when they'd been together for months, so well-acquainted that he could describe in detail every freckle and barely-there blemish on her body? Her euphoric crying of his name ringing in his ears as her nails scraped against his skin, the memories causing him to react despite the strongest will.

Somewhere buried deep in his consciousness, in a place that she would have little trouble in reaching, a spark burned, the thread connecting from brain to heart where the quickened pulse set it to a fierce flame, that in any other circumstance he would have put down to a bad bout of indigestion.

This was something he'd never felt before. Not for any of the conquests that he was ashamed to think of now and, perhaps more shamefully, not for the woman that he had married once upon a time.

He brought out one fist and tapped it gently against the closed door. He'd expected to hear something from inside to signal that she was alert, voices from the television or a muffled blaring of the terrible music that she liked to play. He moistened his lips before exhaling, saying her name softly, his self-awareness sky-rocketing.

"Bols?"

After a few seconds of no response, which stretched out into an eternity with all of the silence, he ventured again, raising his voice just minimally.

"Bolly."

His ear against the door, he pressed a palm there too and huffed in disappointment when it didn't give way to the pressure he exerted. The thought of using his foot instead crossed his mind but he backed away from it quickly, logic telling him that she'd be pissed off with him more than anything for breaking down the door that had not long been installed. The action might also frighten her, bringing back unwanted and troubling memories.

 _You'd better get me a key for Christmas, Bols_ , the thought so loud that he almost muttered it without being aware.

He settled for his fingers splayed against the door in compensation. She'd needed the rest for weeks; really, it was little wonder that she was still out of it. The thought of her wrapped in blissful and peaceful sleep, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, was enough to soothe him.

A couple of lights were still on in the trattoria and he followed their glow, nodding towards the Italian shuffling behind the bar.

"Leavin' Sleepin' Beauty to it tonight," he uttered, head still so full of Alex that he was oblivious to the hazy look cloaking Luigi's gaze. "Hellfire, 'ow long 'ave I been in 'ere? It's bloody white as far as the eye can see."

"The snow's been steady since this afternoon, Signor Hunt. Coming to London was the first time I'd seen it." A ruddy glow coloured the Italian's cheeks. "It is magical, especially at this time of year."

"It won't be so bleedin' magical if it buggers up the Quattro," Gene retorted. "Better jump to it. Cheers, Luigi."

With Luigi's farewell in his ears he exited the trattoria, the icy wind hitting him sharp in the face. He pulled the leather gloves from his pockets, craning his neck to the black night sky once he had fixed them into place. The flakes that fell melted against the air before they could fall down upon him, rendering him impenetrable.

 _Wouldn't dare chance it against the Gene-Genie._

Before he fired up the Quattro for the trip home he turned his gaze towards the single window, nearly invisible against the night without a light filling it.

 _Sweet dreams, Bolly_.

He hoped that he was in them.

* * *

 _The crimson-stained darkness faded out into light, building brighter against her closed eyelids. Her hands were warm and dry and she could move them with minimal effort, fingertips drifting easily to her chest, registering the steady thumping of her heart housed within._

 _A gentle ticking noise resounded against her ears, sounds rushing louder, no longer muffled against interminable silence._

 _A man's voice, growing clearer._

" _You're doing really well, Alex. Just push a little more, and you'll be there."_

 _She felt fingers brush against her own, lifting her palm from where it lay._

" _Can you show us? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."_

 _She flexed her hand, curling her fingers. She heard the sound of delighted laughter and relief echoing._

" _That's wonderful, Alex. You're nearly there. Now if you can breathe..."_

 _It felt a step too far. She was just getting used to movement after being paralysed, sound and light, so much light. It flooded into her mind, cleansing it and crafting her synapses anew._

 _The voice of encouragement continued, accompanied by murmurs from another. She felt her blood as though it was an active force, too powerful for her body to contain._

 _Another force awakened too, rushing up from her stomach to her lungs, charging through her chest._

" _Nearly there, Alex...nearly..."_

 _Something distant wanted to hold her under, phantom fingers grasping onto her and a whisper that was too faint to hear._

 _I can't hold on..._

 _The rush came quicker and quicker, the light blinding her._

 _She gasped out the breath, the whiteness against her eyes dissipating while her pulse thundered, pushing the hand that had been holding hers firmly away._

 _She felt it in every fibre of her body. Life._

She had made it back.

* * *

It felt weird sleeping in his own bed; weirder still not having Bolly at his side. It had become so natural to reach not far at all and touch the soft curves of her silky-smooth skin, feel the gentle tickling of her hair and warm huffing of her breath while she pillowed her head upon his chest. Her wriggling would usually wake him up and if not that then the press of her lips against his neck definitely did. The murmur of 'Bols' leaving his throat in a gruff tone, hardly complaining as she dipped lower, his hands skimming her arse as she smiled craftily against his skin.

Not this morning. The bed was bloody freezing without the warmth of her body pressed to his and he'd hardly had more than a few winks of sleep all night. With a groan of frustration he pulled the covers tighter around his body until he was shrouded, pummelling his head into the pillow and shutting his eyes tight as though he had a point to prove to whoever it was who was so intent on keeping him awake.

The dream was a scene from reality, one that too often crept into his mind since it had happened. That mad cow Jenette had fired at the bloke aiming at Bolly before he had the chance to do it himself and he'd been too caught off guard to stop her from grabbing Bolly and cocking her own gun against Bolly's temple. The look of naked fear in Bolly's eyes nearly stopped his heart in his chest, every nerve in him pulsing with terror. He needed to be careful and in control; a hair's breadth either left or right would cause disaster, bring the whole world crashing down.

He kept his eyes with Bolly's, dropping his gaze momentarily to see her mouth form his name.

His finger fired the trigger, the bullet reaching its target. As Jenette stumbled back, gun falling from her grip, his eyes focused clearer on Bolly, seeing the red bloom onto the white of her shirt.

 _Jenette had fired too._

He shouted at the top of his lungs, scrambled over to where she swayed, catching her in his arms before she fell to the ground.

" _Gene,"_ she uttered his name shakily, her hand trembling. He could see her blood covering it as she raised it to his face, it felt too warm smeared upon his skin.

" _Bolly,"_ he exclaimed, clutching onto her desperately. Her eyelids were fluttering wildly, her hands already slackening their grip upon him. _"No, no. You stay with me. You 'ear? Don't go."_

His hand went to her face, nearly slapping her to keep the life within her. He could feel that it was too late and his heart was breaking.

" _BOLLY!"_

He woke with a start, pain searing through his chest and his senses all over the shop. The clock at the bedside read 09.10.

"Shit!"

He got himself ready and out the door in a record time, bombing the Quattro down strangely quiet streets, which were a blessing, ensuring that he arrived at the station just on twenty five past. He took several swigs from the hip-flask stashed in the glove compartment, needing to rid himself of the sour taste of heavy sleep and blot out the horrific images from the nightmare he'd had.

Once that was done and the Quattro was secure, he got into CID at half nine.

The usual scene confronted him, quieter than was regular. Probably down to the fact that the entire team were almost certainly nursing sizeable hangovers.

He felt the compulsion to bang his hands against every surface within reach, causing a series of synchronised groans to rise up.

"Good mornin'. Nice to see you all so bright-eyed and bushy-arsed."

Glancing around he took in the faces one-by-one. To their credit nobody had pulled a sickie, all being present and correct.

Apart from one desk that was empty.

 _You did tell 'er that she needed a break._

 _Still, you didn't say that it started straight away. This case still needs to be solved, after all._

"Where's Bolly?"

His question was met with blank and confused expressions. Nothing new when it came to Chris, but he expected more than that even from him, especially when the rest of them were playing equally as dumb.

"Bollykecks," he reiterated, extending an arm to point to the unoccupied desk, "Lady B. Drakey."

He might as well have been speaking Hindustani for all the reaction he was getting out of them, which was hardly anything at all.

"DI Drake," he said through gritted teeth, feeling pissed off enough as it was.

The faces before him continued to appear confounded, one or two glancing at one another, mouthing words that he couldn't comprehend.

"If you're gunna say somethin' I'd appreciate it if you bloody spoke up so I can 'ear!"

Ray was the one to rise from his seat, apprehension painted upon his face.

"Guv," he began, shrinking back a little at the fury in Gene's eyes, " _I'm_ your DI."

"Don't tug my todger, Raymondo," Gene replied, a further shadow cast upon his brow, "I'm not in the mood."

All eyes were on Ray as he made his way forward, somewhat bravely, stopping to stand a couple of inches away from Gene.

"I've been your DI since Tyler...well, y'know." Gene watched as Ray dug into the inside pocket of his jacket. "See."

Well, there was no mistaking what was written on the warrant card. _DI Ray Carling_.

"God bloody 'elp me," Gene muttered, causing Ray to turn sheepish, slinking back to his desk.

He'd said it quite flippantly, unthinking, but the thought germinated up from the depths of his mind.

 _If this is the case, then what rank is Bolly?_ He couldn't see someone as mouthy as her settling to be a Sergeant or Constable.

"You alright, Guv?" Chris's voice rose up from where he sat. "Who's this Drake?"

The rage that caused his blood to throb in his veins was only part deserved, and he stopped himself from hurtling towards DC Skelton and grabbing him by the lapels just in time. Instead he started to roam around CID, clearing files from desks, searching for any sight or sign of Bolly's whereabouts, ignoring the whispers that dared to go up around him.

 _This 'as got to be some kind of trick. Probably somethin' she's organised especially to scare the shit out of me._

"Guv," Ray spoke up again, "we've got whereabouts on Jimmy Brown. Call came through first thing this mornin'."

"Well you follow it up, Raymondo. There's a good DS."

Right now he didn't give a stuff about the scummy suspect.

"DI," Ray's voice corrected him as he went out of CID, coat billowing behind him in his wake.

Entering the kitchenette he found Shaz making the tea, her shoulders jumping when she looked up towards him.

"Guv," she stuttered out in surprise, "sorry, I started without you. But I thought by the time I'd brewed them all you'd turn up, so I made yours as well. Five sugars."

 _Surely she's got somethin' better to do than make tea and put out biscuits._

"Never mind that, Shaz. You seen Bolly?"

Her nose wrinkled. "Um...," she stumbled, struggling to keep gaze with him, "it's a bit early in the day for champers, I reckon."

 _Right, this is gettin' very bloody weird now._

"Guv!" Shaz's voice called after him. "Your cuppa's going to go cold."

The doors of the station nearly swung from their hinges as he burst through them, heading single-mindedly down the road to Luigi's.

"Signor Hunt," the Italian greeted him on his hasty arrival, "it is very early..."

"No time to talk, Luigi. 'ave to check on somethin'."

He made for the exit that led up to the flat, taking the staircase two steps at a time. Sickening thoughts ran through his head, imagining that he might find her body limp in the bed, and he hammered against the door in a helpless attempt to expel them.

"Bolly, open this door! Everyone thinks I've gone bloody mental thanks to you kippin' in."

He slammed both hands repeatedly against the door that remained shut tight.

"BOLLY!"

Growing in desperation and fear, he could see that he had no other option.

"Sod it..."

Bracing one hand against the bannister of the staircase he placed the full force of his boot against the door, slamming it repeatedly until it collapsed on its hinges and he forced an entry.

The adrenaline that was coursing through his body carried him through into the flat, a space that was bare of any of her decoration, he could see from a few glances around. Even that eye-watering sofa was absent, replaced by one that was a plain beige tone.

"Bols," he called out her name repeatedly, though it was obvious that she would not respond back to him. He rummaged through empty drawers, flung back the doors of the all-but-bare wardrobe.

Pulled back bed-sheets to find that there was no trace of her, not even the warmth of her body's imprint. The sheets were like ice against his hands.

His voice bounced off the walls, and from below he could hear Luigi's voice bellowing something he couldn't understand aside from the intermittent shouts of his name.

He'd pay for the damage he'd caused, that was no problem.

His legs grew weak, couldn't support him. He collapsed down onto the bed with a thud, both hands tight against his scalp. His mind was running riot and was also a void, unable to make any sense of it. _How was it that she could vanish, just like that?_

Slowly he took his hands from his head, watching them shake as he lowered them in front of his face.

"Alex..." her name was stuck on his tongue, lodged in his throat and wrapped around his heart.

She was gone.

* * *

The bright white became muted, and the breath that had erupted like the start of a hurricane from her had evened out. She felt groggy as she blinked, very slowly taking in her surroundings. All she was currently aware of was a ceiling above her which she blinked at repeatedly, the colour becoming greyer and more lifelike the more she adjusted.

She was aware of her physicality too, and felt the drip that was attached to a finger, the tube tight around her digit.

She could hear breathing, still laboured and sounding false to her ears. She also heard voices, whispers that were animated. It was disorientating for her to hear the presence of others in the room but not see them.

A murmur of frustration left her lips, a call for attention. The chattering came to a cease and she registered soft footsteps making their way towards her.

"Welcome back, Alex." A man's face appeared in her line of vision, smiling kindly down at her. "It's very good to see you."

She mumbled her assent at the words, wanting to pull her head up.

"Woah, let's take it easy. Your system's still adjusting." His voice was gentle and reassuring. "But the signs are very good. I'll let Mr Gerrard know that you're awake, he'll be delighted." The smile grew a little larger upon his face; he was quite young for a doctor, late twenties at most. "Someone's been waiting to see you."

He moved away and she was left staring up at the ceiling again, until the face of a young woman came into view. She looked like she was in her early twenties, dark blonde hair sitting on her shoulders and wearing a wide smile that originated in her shining eyes.

She was very confused. Whoever this young woman was she was clearly very pleased to see her. She wasn't wearing anything that resembled a nurse's uniform, instead clad in a checked shirt over a vest top.

Despite herself she smiled, believing that it was the polite thing to do, her heart coming down from the high it had been boosted to, thinking that she was about to be reunited with her daughter.

The young woman smiled back, raising both hands to her mouth momentarily. Alex saw that her fingers were covered with rings and several bands adorned both of her wrists.

Her eyes sparkled a beautiful shade of blue.

"Oh my god," she said, wiping a fist at the corner of one of her eyes, the smile still on her face. "I knew you wouldn't leave me."

Alex opened her mouth to say something, to question, but only a mumble left her lips.

The young woman gripped her hand and she felt a familiar sensation rush through her. Something she remembered, deep in her heart.

"It's okay," the smiling face reassured her. "I'm just happy that you're here."

Alex smiled back, comforted by the feeling that coursed through her body, prompted by the touch of hands.

"Who...who are you?" she managed to say after a few seconds had passed.

The smile was temporarily broken, replaced by a small frown. The young woman took a deep breath, moving her head as if to shake the burst of sorrow away.

"It's me, Mum," she replied brightly, and it was then that her voice sounded painfully similar. "It's Molly."

* * *

 **A/N: If you thought things were weird before...**

 ** _The Second Coming_ by W.B. Yeats, and referenced in 3.7 of A2A (boo hiss, Keats)**


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_

She continued to stare down at her, this stranger with piercing blue eyes emphasised by a heavy coating of black eyeliner.

Not a stranger. _Molly._

Or so she claimed.

Alex struggled to make any sort of comprehension, but it seemed to be important that the agonising pain that had resided in her head for so long was not apparent.

It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, flat on her back.

"Can I..." she reached an arm upward, signalling her desire to sit up. The young doctor seemed to have advised against it, but she felt perfectly fine aside from a faint stiffness in her neck.

The young woman was quick to react, placing one arm around Alex's waist and the other supporting her shoulders.

She felt the rush again, more potent than moments before. Her eyes and mind may have been deceiving her but her heart did not.

Tentatively she held a hand out, fingers making contact with a warm, soft cheek. The action of plumping and propping up pillows was interrupted, the young woman stilling as she was held in place.

"Molls," Alex uttered, tracing her thumb at the curve of her daughter's jaw. Her heart contracted within her chest and she found it difficult to breathe for a few seconds, studying the face in front of her own with great intent, paying as much attention as she was able to each little distinguishing and perfectly plain detail.

She did have an exceptionally beautiful smile, which was radiating again, making her almost shimmer with light. Not for the first time did Alex contemplate that perhaps she was in some kind of afterlife, her mind having conjured up the surroundings of the hospital as a transition, a coping mechanism.

Molly felt too warm to be any kind of apparition, not that she would know what one _would_ feel like. She felt _real_.

Alex moved to tuck a section of Molly's hair to one side and noticed the mole on her cheek, ghosting her fingertips over it which made Molly flinch and then huff out a little laugh. She couldn't process it. The woman in front of her was precisely _that_ , not a little girl anymore. _Well, she wasn't a little girl when you left her._ She would always be her baby, but this person was so...grown-up.

Her mind began to race with possibilities and explanations. She had assumed that time moved much quicker in that world of make-believe than in reality. Everything that had happened to Sam Tyler; he had lived a life in the '1970's' when in actuality he had been seconds from death. Perhaps it worked differently for different people, the reverse being true for her. She was filled up with guilt, spending so much time away from Molly, missing the most important part of her life. She could not fathom how they would keep her in a state of limbo for quite so long; surely it would have been better to switch whatever support was keeping her alive off.

 _I promised I would get back to you. So much has changed, Molls, but I'm here, at long last._

"How...how long was I gone for?" Part of her was too frightened to know the truth, but at the same time she knew she had to determine it, for her own peace of mind.

"It felt like forever," Molly replied, her wide smile breaking momentarily. Her hand had linked with Alex's free one, their fingers intertwined. "But it was only three days."

 _Three days? No...this makes no sense whatsoever._

The blue eyes looking at her deepened in shade as she remained silent, brain frantically trying to make connections but short-circuiting at every turn.

"You don't remember?"

Alex shook her head at her daughter's question, feeling the furrow of her brow and the frown of confusion imprinted upon her face.

"There was an accident," Molly explained, resting against the edge of the bed.

 _Yes. I was shot in the head, and I woke up in 1981. I lived there for a while but then I was shot again in 1982._

 _And now, God knows where I am._

"It was the car...there was a bomb inside. The police are investigating but they don't know who put it there yet."

 _A bomb, in a car? Like her parents?_ She took her hand away from Molly's face, moved it to her forehead. There was no bandage, no wound or scar that she could feel with her fingertips.

Her mind was going into overdrive.

"And you're...you're alright?"

"I'm fine. A few scratches and smoke inhalation, but I've been checked out and the doctors say there's nothing wrong."

Alex smiled in relief, despite her growing confusion.

Molly's face shadowed and she inhaled a breath, shoulders shuddering. "Dad came off the worst. He wanted to make sure that we were out of danger. Typical, I guess."

 _Pete was there? And looking out for us instead of being concerned about himself...this has to be some kind of parallel universe._

"They had to put him in intensive care. He's alive but in a bad way..." Molly's breath caught sharp in her throat, the sound of strangled tears temporarily choking her. "The doctors won't tell me anything. I'm scared, Mum."

"He'll be alright," Alex said dismissively, still trying to figure out why the hell she would voluntarily get into a car with Pete. It had to be for the sake of Molly, but they hadn't done anything as a _family_ since Molly was a tiny baby. "Where's Evan?"

Molly frowned. "Evan died, Mum."

"What?"

The bottom was falling out of her world and she had nothing to grip onto.

"Nearly five years ago. Cancer." Her daughter's eyes softened towards her. "Sometimes I forget too. He was still only young."

A wave of grief washed over her. She had been so angry at him, the feeling lessening when she had spoken to him and realised the torment he was in after the death of her mother. He had been all she had for so long, and now he was gone too.

"Dad read at the funeral. You were going to but you were too upset, you couldn't get through the first two lines without crying, so Dad did it for you."

She couldn't stop the laugh that burst from her lips, horrible in the circumstances. "Pete _hated_ Evan. He was always so jealous of him, God knows why."

Molly's expression was crumpled when Alex looked back at her. She wanted to take the haunted look out of her brilliant blue eyes.

"Pete?" There was a long pause, as if Molly was trying to unravel something she didn't understand, the sorrow painted more liberally upon her features. "Dad's name is Gene."

A pang stabbed at the left side of her chest, hurtling her back through time. She hadn't thought of him since she'd woken. Since she'd been shot again and ripped from the Eighties.

Now his face was vivid in her mind.

"No," her voice was a whisper as she wrestled her hand away from Molly's hold, pushing her daughter away as the pain encroached upon her, unable to properly recognise the anguished look upon Molly's face. "It can't be...no, no!"

She could feel herself spiralling, the room spinning as the small remaining fragments of control slipped from her grasp.

Where was she? _Who_ was she?

 _What the hell is going on?_

"Mum," Molly's voice was small, approaching Alex tentatively again, her shoulders hunched and one arm held out in front of her. "Mum, are you alright?"

She couldn't recognise her. _Whoever she is, she's lying._

"Go away!" Alex shouted, the sound of her voice echoing in the room as she scrabbled on the bed, sought to press herself against the wall, needing to find something that was real.

"Mum..."

"Leave me alone!" Alex pleaded, her eyes narrowing at the young woman who had started to cry silently. "Please."

 _I just want everything to stop._

 _I just want to get back to where I was, before._

The young woman left the room but Alex could hear her voice low outside, crying. A few moments later the young doctor returned, walking over towards the bed. Instinctively Alex pulled the bedsheets tighter around her.

"Alex," he said her name calmly, "it's okay. You're okay." His smile was faintly reassuring. "This is probably a reaction to the medication, but it will wear off. You need to get some rest."

 _How I'm supposed to do that, I don't know._

She allowed him to rearrange the pillows that had propped her up, settled herself back down.

"What year is it?" she asked, her voice still trembling, afraid of the answer she would receive.

He took a few seconds to reply, eyeing her with a look of concern.

"2008," he answered, the sinking feeling she'd started to feel in her gut confirmed.

But she still couldn't begin to comprehend _how_.

"I don't..." she said, the words thick upon her tongue.

"I think Mr Gerrard needs to check you over, but that can wait. The important thing now is that you get some sleep."

 _I'm not sleepy. Haven't I just been in a coma, anyway?_

She didn't argue against the instructions – mainly because she didn't want to be carted off to a psychiatric ward. She stared up at the ceiling, closing her eyes for seconds at a time before opening them again, the same questions revolving in her head – not that she had any feasible answers to them.

She raised her hand in front of her eyeline, noticing first the wrinkles upon the skin and then the two rings on her third finger. The tears began to prick at her eyes as her gaze was held there. _Whatever this world is, I'm married to Gene in it. And Molly is ours._

It seemed cruel somehow; all that she would have dreamed, but which was completely impossible.

Her eyes moved lower and her hand raised higher, taking in the identity band that was attached to her wrist. What was written upon it was too small to read from a distance, so she brought it closer, narrowing her eyes.

She could have looked it for the rest of time and she still wouldn't have believed what was there to be true.

 _It can't possibly be._

 _Mrs Alexandra Hunt._

 _D.O.B: 14/04/46_

Sleep soon claimed her, the dream world more real to her than whatever dimension she belonged to now.

* * *

"Ahh, Guv," Chris whined as the rest of CID looked on, half in admiration and half in disbelief, "but it's Christmas!"

"So?" Gene replied. To say that he was not in the mood for this was the understatement of the century. "You're not bloody Father Christmas, are yer?"

"No," Chris answered.

"Good job an' all," Ray chipped in, "otherwise there'd be lots of very disappointed kiddies with nothin' to open on Christmas morning because soft lad forgot to feed the reindeer."

"And I'm givin' you two and a half days off. That's more than enough for everythin' you've got planned, which as far as I know is eatin' and drinkin' as much as your body weight can 'andle and then sleepin' it off."

"Well we're going to my mum and dad's, so I hope you're not going to just do that," Shaz passed by with the latest tea round, dropping the warning into Chris's ear.

"But Fenchurch West are gettin' between Christmas and New Year off. Or so I 'eard anyway."

"That may be so, Christopher, but they're also lucky they're not all signin' on given the amount of corrupt bullshit that's been goin' on in there. So I say you'd better count your bloody chickens and be thankful that your arse was saved!"

"Er, yeah Guv...course I am." Chris went quiet quickly, shrinking back in his chair and finding the pile of paperwork that was in front of him suddenly very fascinating.

"Anyone else got any complaints or want to compare me to Ebenezer soddin' Scrooge?"

The room chorused as one, "No, Guv."

"Thank Christ for that. Now if that's all, I am goin' to feed my 'eadache some scotch and attempt to have some peace and quiet for five precious minutes. And if the phone rings, then bloody ignore it."

The slam of the door reverberated around his office even after he had sunk down into his chair, feet elevated onto the desk. Closing his eyes he leaned his head back, all too briefly luxuriating in the blank blackness before him. His head _was_ pounding, but he knew full well that alcohol wasn't going to cut it as a cure, not unless there had been some miraculous change in the past few hours.

He sighed heavily as he pulled himself up – only marginally literally, and not that much further figuratively. He had to try harder than this. _You're the Sheriff. The Manc Lion. Nothin' and no one gets you down, and when they do you just 'ave to kick and punch yer way back up again._

 _You've done it before, more than once._

He argued back at himself, saying rightfully that it was different this time. And given that he was the Manc Lion that meant that he could take his bastard time. He could spend the time until next Christmas moping in here if he wanted to. _And_ _God, do I want to._

He heard the chattering beyond the door – _like a bunch of bleedin' gossipin' old women_ – and found his tolerance waning fast. His patience had the ability to be worn quickly thin at the best of times; right now it was hanging by the barest of threads. It was best for all concerned if he kept himself away when it wasn't necessary for him to lead them. _Jesus, what sins did I commit to end up with this lot? Takes them all their time to tell their arses from their elbows._ Carling as his DI? He still couldn't get his head around that little, quite bloody significant matter. Raymondo must have got him steadily bladdered until he gave in and agreed to it, not that his word would have been good for much at that point.

" _You're their Guv,"_ a voice from the ether reminded him. A soft and lilting, posh and ridiculously plummy voice, one which he wished to every non-existent power there was that he had never had the unfortunate pleasure to hear.

 _Except that's a lie._

He convinced himself again that he had gone insane, around the bend so bloody far that nobody would be able to find him. _People don't just vanish into thin air. But she's not 'people'._ Nowhere to be seen – and he had looked high, low and everywhere in between – but _everywhere_ in the corners of his mind. Her smile appearing from the depths of darkness, the touch of her hand in the dead of night. _Did I dream 'er?_ He didn't have the power to conjure up someone as...as... _bloody well indescribable_ as Bolly. Alex.

His fingers toyed with the handle on the top drawer of the desk until he got thoroughly pissed off with himself and just yanked the thing open. Without any further hesitation he lifted out the black velvet box, stubbing out the cigarette that wasn't yet half-smoked to hold the item in both hands. The feelings he had experienced at the time seized him again; the apprehension, the fear, the very real notion that the spirit of a limp-wristed pansy was inhabiting his body as he made his way across the road and into the jewellers, hoping fervently that nobody who knew him would spot him trundling his way awkwardly. That was going to be impossible given that he was DCI Gene Hunt; _every bastard that walked the streets knew him_.

He loitered for a while, fooling himself into believing that he wasn't really looking. The first shiny thing that he laid his eyes upon for longer than five seconds would do just fine. In actuality it took far too long, ensuring that he missed the match completely and a good chunk of drinking time as well. But when he finally found it, he knew.

He pulled the silver chain from its casing, the fingers of one hand edging the curves of the heart-shaped pendant. _Soppy, nancy, big girl's bloody blouse._ He tried to picture the look on her face when he gave it to her on Christmas morning, limbs still tangled together in the red sheets of her bed. Tortured himself. The light from the desk lamp hit the diamond in its centre, collecting a thousand different colours within.

He might as well bury himself now, somewhere the world would not bear witness to the wreck he'd become.

The noise that he had tried and failed to block out became progressively louder, sounding like one of the inhabitants of the cells had broken out and was causing all hell to break loose. He muttered under his breath as he got to his feet, Bolly's calming presence absent from his mind as she was in body.

 _Five soddin' minutes was all I'd asked for._

He was confronted with the sounds before the sight, a tight circle fracturing to reveal the intruder who had interrupted his bout of sorrowful solitude. Whoever the bastard was, he had a gob on him.

"Well, who the hell do you think you are?" he bawled. "This is my office. Right here. Where's my office?"

"Make your mind up, mate. You just said it was 'ere." Ray sniggered, nudging his arm against Chris who stood at his side, in front of the red-cheeked stranger. "Think you might want to report it. Lost property's that way."

"Get off me, moron!"

The rest of CID screeched in mocking, effeminate tones as the bloke shoved Ray's arm away. Gene found the ire that had been flattened by his morose mood charging back to life.

"WHERE'S MY OFFICE?"

 _Well, this will not bloody do at all._

He stepped out a fraction from the doorway of his office, commanding the attention of the room with a single hard-edged stare.

"A word in your shell-like, pal."

He didn't bother to cast his eyes upwards for a while, let the bloke rant and rave in the confines of the room, the sound of the intruder's voice nothing but an irritated buzzing in his ear. _I'm gettin' bleedin' sick of all this._ When the same few phrases and questions came on repeat like a broken record something told him that he should probably intervene, if only for the sake of his half-shredded sanity.

"Where's my iPhone? One of those idiots out there has taken it."

"You've said that a dozen times now, and it still doesn't make the least bit of sense to me."

Give him some credit, he wasn't put off. Put him in mind of one of those wind-up toys that kept bashing a pair of cymbals together, to no bloody point.

"And where's my office?"

"That too," Gene uttered nonchalantly, leaning against the door with his arms folded. The situation was becoming clearer through the scotch-filled fog; he'd been here before.

He supposed he should be acting differently, taking charge, showing himself as _King of the Jungle_. The memory of slamming Tyler against the cabinet went through his mind, like a different lifetime.

Years rolling by in his mind, ending up on the embankment next to the Thames. The beautiful sight of Bolly in that tight red dress and ludicrous fur coat, a lifetimes of his fantasies combined into one.

 _My reputation precedes me._

He didn't have the ability to see into the future and so he couldn't see how this exchange was going to play out.

The bloke wore himself out, panting and hanging his pointing arms down at his sides.

"I suppose you're the one in charge in this joke-shop?" he said, narrowing his eyes towards Gene. "If you could stop staring and let me know what the hell is going on, any second now would be great!"

Gene huffed in a breath, going over to where the other man stood with unhurried steps, hands planted firmly in pockets. _Shouldn't jump to conclusions, but I dunno if I like the look of this one._

"You can find out yerself. Put your 'and in your pocket."

He was met with a frown, the stranger moving his hand from the trouser pocket that proved empty slowly upwards to creep inside his jacket. The warrant card was revealed and before he could gawp at it for too long, Gene snatched the item from his grasp.

"Hey!"

"Well, you know who you bloody are, don't you? I, on the other 'and, require enlightenin'."

He looked down at the card and the mugshot which was of undoubted resemblance. Beneath it, the stranger was given a title.

 _DI Nathaniel Parker._

"Christ on a bike, what kind of a name is _that_?"

"Everyone calls me Nate."

"Nah," Gene shook his head, "not 'ere, they don't. We'll come up with somethin'. _Dozy Parker_ 'll do for starters."

Wasn't his best work but it seemed to be rather apt in the impression he'd got in the last five minutes. Dozy thought otherwise.

"You still haven't told me who the hell you think you are," he exclaimed, squaring up to Gene with a stance that he must have considered to be menacing.

It would have been too easy to pull him from his feet by the scruff of his neck and show him _exactly who he was, and that he shouldn't have so much lip._

He just didn't have the energy nor inclination.

"Gene Hunt. Your DCI. It's 1982, and I'm well overdue a bloody break."

Dozy was blank-faced for all of five seconds, living up to his name before reality kicked in.

"You are kidding me...1982? No, you're actually having a laugh."

"Does it look like you're amusin' me, sunshine? There's a calendar on the wall outside if you want to 'ave a look for yourself."

Dozy took it upon himself to take a seat, sinking his head into his hands, mumbling to himself. _Another escapee from the loony bin. Fan-bloody-tastic._ Gene tuned himself out of the low and persistent noise, downed another glass, willed himself to disappear.

After a few moments he heard something that flipped a switch in his brain.

"Right, just calm down. It's 2008, you know it is..."

"What did you just say?"

He raised his head slowly, expression clouded for a few seconds until the beginnings of a smirk stretched across his lips.

"Losing your hearing, are you? You must be coming up on retirement."

Gene wasted few moments in going over, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him onto his feet.

"I want to know what the bloody 'ell you just said, and I don't usually need to ask twice."

He might have wore a cocky smile but the look in his eyes spoke louder volumes. _He's crappin' himself._

"I said it's 2008," Dozy answered, looking Gene straight in the eyes, "you must be losing your marbles as well if you think it's 1982."

 _2008._ It had been buried at the back of his mind for weeks, intensifying in the last couple.

He wasn't sure what rationale he had but the connection was there and it made sense to him. _This stupid sod has stolen Bolly's place and has got the nerve to think 'e can get away with it._

"Alex Drake," Gene said, her name leaving a hole in his chest.

Dozy shrugged as much as he could with Gene's hands upon him. "Never heard of him."

With those four seemingly simple words Gene saw red, tightening his grip upon Dozy Parker's lapels, wanting to squeeze every drop of life out of the bastard.

"What 'ave you done with her? Tell me now and I'll make life a whole lot easier for you. It'll still be a livin' hell, mind."

He knew she hadn't disappeared completely. Knew that he hadn't been making it all up, the life they had started to build together.

 _I want it back more than anythin'._

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," he stuttered out, cheeks turning redder by the second. One of Gene's hands had gone up to his throat, subconsciously Gene could only assume. "I don't know an Alex Drake. I swear to God."

He didn't believe it for a sodding second. He wasn't thinking straight right now but at least this arsewipe had given him a lead; something he'd been searching for without success for weeks.

"Please..."

His voice was a whisper, and coming to a realisation Gene relinquished his grip, giving Dozy chance to catch his breath. _S'pose he's going to come in useful after all, if he's the only link I've got back to Bolly._

"There's an empty desk out there. Go and bloody use it, but don't be skivin' too long. We've got work to do."

He stumbled to his feet again after slouching on the chair, the fear in his irises burning through fiercely.

Gene smacked a hand to Dozy's shoulder, feeling him flinch. "Welcome to the team, Inspector."

He took the seat behind his desk again, watching the new recruit sit uncertainly down and flashing his warrant card to whoever approached, Raymondo looking less than impressed at being usurped. Every now and then he'd catch the pair of wary eyes glancing toward him through the half-open blinds, aimed elsewhere less than a second later.

 _Well, at least he knows where his place is._

He might need to bide his time for a bit, let Dozy find his feet. The whole _softly, softly_ approach, which he was getting marginally better at with practice.

Her face flashed in his mind again and he closed his eyes so he could savour it, see every detail of her features as she smiled towards him; a smile that did little to hide the pain in her eyes.

 _Don't you worry, Bols. I'll make things right for you, if it's the last thing I do._

* * *

Alex sat in the bed, her eyes paying little attention to the television screen that was switched on in front of her. Lamps set an amber glow in the room, telling her that it must be the evening. On the cabinet at her side a bunch of yellow tulips had been arranged in a vase. A smile started to spread upon her face as she looked at them.

Her head was decidedly less foggy since she had woke from sleep; she still had not the slightest idea of what had happened to her – more accurately, _who_ she was – but the couple of hours spent slumbering had refreshed her and made her more open to the possibility of accepting her surroundings.

She saw a face somewhat nervously peeking through the small 'window' that looked out onto the corridor and her smile grew deeper, gesturing with her hand for the figure to come through.

Molly stepped into the room cautiously, closing the door gently behind her. Alex's heart ached to see her daughter behaving so skittish, knowing it was her reaction that had caused it. She still wore a smile though, intensifying the longer she looked upon her now sedate mother.

Alex patted her hand on the bed, encouraging Molly to pull the chair that was by her bedside closer.

"I'm so sorry, Molls," she said, the hurt and regret evident in her tone, "I shouldn't have taken it out on you, it's not your fault."

Molly's cheeks filled with colour again, her shoulders relaxing where she sat. "It's not your fault, either."

"But I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I scared you."

"It's not you..." her blue eyes looked down and away from Alex for a moment, "Mr Gerrard did say that you might have trouble remembering some things, but I wasn't expecting it to be so much."

Alex felt her expression mirroring that of her daughter's as she looked back up at her.

"Maybe it'll come back soon. Give me half a chance, hey? I've only been back on Earth for a few hours."

She reached her hand out towards Molly, a warmth spreading out from the centre of her chest as her daughter laced her fingers in the spaces between her own. The metal of the rings she wore gave a pleasantly cool shock against Alex's clammy skin.

"So, there was a bomb."

Molly's smile faltered. "You don't need to know about it. It might be too traumatic, cause more damage to the limbic system."

 _Ah, so she knows how the brain works. She must have developed her interest in psychology when she got a bit older._

"It's fine, Molls. I think it's better if I can start to piece things together, going from the most recent memory."

Molly looked somewhat reluctant to recount. "I think I'm a bit fuzzy on it as well. At least after..."

"I don't want to make you feel bad," Alex uttered soothingly, stroking the pad of her thumb against her daughter's hand. "Where we were going?"

"We'd been for a picnic in Regent's Park. The same as we do every year for my birthday, at least when it's not raining." Her smile began to grow wide again, her happiness in the memories so strong that Alex could almost inhabit them too. "I had to get the train and Dad took his shortcut to get there quicker. But the road was closed and there was a diversion, we ended up on this dead-end street with a hill overlooking it...there was a billboard, I think."

 _Sounds exactly like where Mum and Dad were..._

"We'd come to a stop and Dad was complaining about the roadworks, saying that someone should have said something sooner. Then you told him to shush because you heard something. Dad looked under the dashboard and told us both to get out."

A snippet of something flashed into her brain, being in the car with Gene. But it was the Quattro and it was the Eighties, not the modern day.

"I got out of the car because Dad was screaming at me to do so, but I didn't want to go without either of you, and you were trying to get him to leave the bomb alone, he was trying to diffuse it. All I could hear was him shouting your name, begging you to get out. You were still half in when it went off, I was on the grass and I screamed so loud...and that's all I can remember until the ambulance came."

"Molls," Alex uttered her daughter's name soft and quiet, "I'm so sorry you had to see that, darling."

"It's okay, Mum," she replied. It was still so surreal to see her so much older, changed in so many ways but just the same in all the ways that mattered. "I just don't know who would want to do something like that. I mean, I know that you and Dad probably made a few enemies, doing what you did. But since you both retired I never thought it would be an issue."

Gene, retired. She could only imagine how long it must have taken to persuade him to stand down, and it had probably fallen to her to do most of the hard work.

She looked again at the identity band on her wrist, tracing it with her fingertips. The date written there meant that she was sixty two now. She hadn't yet had the chance to glimpse herself in a mirror and couldn't begin to imagine what she would look like. _Will I recognise myself? I can't have changed that much._

 _Then again, I'm not the same person I was. I can't be._

"This is going to sound just awful, so forgive me," she said with a gentle smile, "but what age did you turn on your birthday?"

Molly returned the grin her mother gave her, squeezing her hand. "Twenty four. July 20th 1984. The day your lives were turned upside down forever."

"The day they were made so much better," Alex returned with a smile, even though she was finding it increasingly hard not to cry.

If this was her life – and there seemed to be no reason to doubt that it wasn't – why did she have no recollection of it? All that she was able to remember was those eighteen months that she had spent with Gene and the team, when she was convinced that she had to get back to her real life, a life that now appeared to be the true illusion.

"Mum?" Molly had noted the quiver in her voice, recognised that it was something other than just love for herself.

Alex shook her head so as to hold back the tears, unable to take her eyes away from her precious daughter.

"I can't remember, Molls. Any of it. I just...can't remember." The tears she had been fighting to stop finally broke free. "And I should. The most important moments...I should know what they were like."

Marrying Gene. Their life together. Giving birth to their daughter, raising her. Everything had been wiped from her memory. Somehow it seemed unfeasible, even if she had wanted to stitch both sides together so desperately, always believing that it was impossible.

She was from another world. Or had been.

She couldn't even begin to think about what it meant for her parentage; obviously she wasn't the daughter of Tim and Caroline Price. _Did either of them even exist?_ They were questions for another time, a day when things weren't so overwhelming, when it didn't feel as if the world was simultaneously caving in and opening up in front of her.

Molly was the one to offer comforting touches, rubbing her fingertips in small circles. A little murmur came from her throat as she leaned forward.

"Molls?" Alex responded to the sound.

"When Dad wakes up, he'll be able to remind you. Say you're a _dozy mare_ for forgetting." She laughed, but the laugh no sooner left her lips than it broke into something more painful. " _If_ he wakes up, that is...he'll be okay, won't he?"

The tears had started to fill Molly's eyes and Alex could not bear to see them.

"Oh, Molls, of course he will." She pulled her daughter to her without hesitation, her heart aching for her. For Gene, too.

The guilt had remained with her at first, believing that she couldn't love him any more for fear of being untrue to Molly. But then she said what she had said, and slowly the sorrow had dissolved. Only to be replaced by the sorrow that he had been seriously injured trying to save them both.

"If anyone's going to pull through it's going to be your Dad. He's made of tough stuff. The toughest."

Alex felt a smile against her neck, interrupting Molly's sobs. It lifted her heart as she stroked her daughter's hair.

Eventually she comforted her to the point of belief and a nurse came to inform them that visiting time was over.

"I'll be back first thing tomorrow, okay?"

Alex nodded, smiling through her tears. "Have you got a place to stay?"

"Yeah, I'm crashing at Hannah's. My roommate from uni." Molly shook her head fondly. "You'll remember her when you see her."

"I'm sure I will." She turned her head to the television screen briefly, catching the sight of a news report playing out. "Oh, Molls? Thanks for the tulips. They're my..."

"Favourites?" Molly finished off her thought. "That's why I bought them. And look, you're remembering things already."

Alex smiled, leaning her head back upon the fluffed-up pillows.

 _And I'll get there with the rest._

With more than a little help from her daughter, she imagined.

* * *

Three weeks into 1983 and it was turning out to be a steaming pile of shit. Not completely unlike the years that had preceded.

 _At least 1982 had Bolly in it, for the most part._

Dozy was integrating into the team, making himself comfortable. Even Ray had become pally with him, which was a bloody miracle given the time it had taken him to accept both Tyler and Bolly and that Dozy had essentially stolen his position. Ray remained a DI – he'd done nothing to merit a demotion – but Parker superceded him as he'd had the rank for longer.

 _That was technically wrong, given that the bloke is from the soddin' future._

 _(Not that that mattered when it had come to Bollykecks)_

But he just couldn't see what they all did; it was as if whatever it was was being kept a secret from him, shrouding and shutting him out. He'd never felt more like an outsider in his whole life. Laughter would stop when he walked into a room; nobody seemed to be able to look him in the eye. Most of the time he didn't want to bother with talking, not unless it was necessary to the case. He supposed that he only had himself to blame, but he was starting to feel like a spare part now. Useless, fit for the scrap heap.

 _None of them would be bothered if I disappeared. They probably wouldn't even notice until a few days when there was no-one to keep them from arsin' about._

More frequently the thought came to the forefront of his mind.

 _I should follow where she led._

The only thing stopping him from seeing out that plan was that he had absolutely no trail.

He was so preoccupied that it was too late to stop from walking into the bloke that was coming from the opposite direction.

"Watch where yer goin'," he muttered, knowing full well that the collision was his fault.

"Sorry, in a world of my own...DCI Hunt?"

He'd heard the voice somewhere before, but it took him a moment or two to drag his gaze up and register the face.

"White," he said, rearing back on his heels.

She ran forward again, holding her hands up, knocking against his head. As if she was controlling him like a bleeding puppet on a string.

 _Say hello from me, Gene._

" 'aven't seen you round 'ere in a while. Thought you'd come to yer senses and gone for a change in career."

The barrister laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. I took some time out but I'm back at it now. Just for a couple of weeks though so I'm feeling rather like a graduate again. You'll find me a little rusty."

"Rule one of goin' toe to toe with a copper: never admit to your weaknesses."

"My mistake."

The other man stared at him for so long that it made Gene feel more than a touch uncomfortable, hoping that one of his admittedly absent team would appear magically and tell him that he was urgently needed. There was a certain look lingering in his eyes as he wet his lips with his tongue. _Bloody hellfire, I hope he's not a shirtlifter because he is definitely barkin' up the wrong tree._ He doubted it soon after the thought occurred. He had been sniffing around Bolly a while back, before he took himself off the scene. Gene recalled only too vividly the burning jealousy and the crushing rejection he had felt when she had left in pursuit of Evan White, leaving him standing in the corridor like a prize wally. She may as well have yanked down his kecks and laughed at his lunchbox for the embarrassment he had experienced.

Now he considered the situation to be even weirder than if he was a poofter. _Still, I s'pose the bloke wasn't to know._

"I always wanted to...that is, I never got the chance," he cleared his throat, not that it did much to dispel the awkwardness, "to say thank you. For Alex...for what you did."

The images played like a film in his mind, the memory of the little girl cradled in his arms a physical weight. The smell of smoke and the heat that was at his back, all made physical once more.

He remembered the silence that filled his ears as he kept walking, carrying the orphaned girl to safety, she being the entire focus of his world for those eternal minutes.

Strangely enough he hadn't thought about Bolly then, her presence a fog in his mind when he thought about the immediate aftermath of the blast.

"I was just doin' me job," he replied, not being so ungracious as to shrug off the gratitude or to question why White hadn't rushed to the girl's aid instead. "As long as the little lady's alright."

White smiled. "Yes, she's great." The smile turned quickly wisful. "I don't know if she fully understands, sometimes. That her mum and dad are...gone."

 _Bloody hell, Bols. You didn't deserve that, not so young._

"She's a bright spark," he pulled himself up quickly, hoping that White hadn't noticed, "she seems to be, anyway."

"You've hit the nail on the head. Won't stop reading, and I'm not talking about _Bunty._ " He shook his head in what Gene imagined to be disbelief. "I'm not sure if it's normal for a nine year old. Or should I say nearly ten, as she's so fond of reminding me."

 _So, she was born in 1973. Which, if I'm workin' this out correctly, means that she was thirty five when she came here._

Not that he made a habit of asking a lady her age, but he remembered that she had mentioned it during one of their earlier cases together.

"When's 'er birthday?" He'd blurted the question out before he'd had chance to really think about it, noticing how White looked at him, wondering. "Just thought it'd be nice to send a card, from the team. So she doesn't forget us."

The words left a dagger-like pain searing in his chest.

Evan smiled again. "I'm sure she'd love that. 14th April."

He remembered vividly. Bolly lying in his arms, wearing one of his shirts – not that it stayed on for very long. His hands were running tantalisingly up and down her sides and he threatened to tickle her until she begged for mercy.

" _You wouldn't dare."_

" _Oh yes I would. Can't keep my 'ands off you as it is..."_

 _He ran his fingertips carefully, teasingly at first before going in for the kill, digging his hands under her arms._

" _No, Gene! Please, no," she pleaded, wriggling on the bed and helpless with laughter._

" _Now now, Bols. I only want to give you yer birthday present early. I don't think it'll keep..."_

 _She put up a valiant fight but it wasn't too long before she submitted. "Okay, it's the 14_ _th_ _. Now get off me."_

" _You sure about that, Bolly?" He rolled her onto her front, watching intently as her molten gaze went to him, her hands threading into his hair._

" _Well, you did promise to give me my present."_

 _Bugger me. They're one and the same, after all._

It was an effort for him not to stutter. "I'll make a note of it."

The guilt swirled in his head. This was his punishment for not completely believing her, for thinking she was on the very edge of insanity.

The only way he could redeem himself was by fighting to get her back.

"I'd better..." White pointed down the corridor, in the direction of the cells he had just personally thrown a maggot of a suspect in, "duty calls."

Gene shoved his hands in his pockets, straightening his stance. Emotion well and truly concealed.

"You should take my advice after all," he uttered, "make the little lady proud of you and stop stickin' up for scumbags for a livin'."

He offered a shrug of defiance, a knowing smirk making its way onto his face. "Someone has to," he replied, leaving a lengthy pause before he finished the statement, "and I hope that she will be, one day. It's the best I can ever hope to be."

Gene watched him walk away to whence he had came, letting the dust settle.

Not that he expected he'd ever have anything in common with White, but stranger things had happened.

He was sure that even stranger things were lying in wait.

* * *

 **A/N: What exactly has happened to Alex? Can the newbie be trusted? (Hopefully) these questions and more will be answered in the forthcoming chapters.**


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_

 _Since you've been gone  
I shut my eyes and I fantasise  
That you're here with me  
Will you ever return?  
I won't be satisified  
'Til you're by my side  
Don't wait any longer_

 _Come back_

 _Why don't you come back?  
Please hurry  
Why don't you come back?  
Please hurry_

Gene sat in the corner that he had long since claimed as his, watching nothing other than the glasses that lay on the table in front of him. Only three, but he knew that he'd drunk at least double that; someone must have been refilling them as the night progressed. He was good for a few more; he'd only just begun to feel a bit fuzzy around the edges and in a slightly better humour than when they'd walked in a couple of hours before.

Being on the cusp wasn't enough. Tonight he intended to get absolutely leathered.

He kept the urges to drink himself into oblivion in check on the whole. Some days he'd start on the scotch not all that long after he dragged himself out of bed; definitely before he got into the office. Most of the time he kept himself in line, bringing out the spectre of his excuse of a father and scaring himself shitless with the thought that history could repeat itself so easily if he let himself be caught unawares.

Most days passed covered in dark clouds rather than an alcohol-induced fog that covered his brain and he could handle it. Losing so much put you naturally in the shadows with very few glimpses of sunshine. But there were days when he was pushed too far to the edge, and it became a necessity rather than a desire. He always recovered, never let himself slide without a way-out. _I am not an alcoholic. I am not him._

Breaking the limit every once in a while was fine, so long as he didn't lose sight of things.

The last few days more than warranted a release. The case they were dealing with involved the worst kind of scum, the type that made him want to unleash the darkest side of himself to be assured that they would suffer as much as they had made others, not that it was a great consolation. Parker was being an irritating shit, which wasn't out of the ordinary but he had decided to dial it up recently.

The next drink didn't even touch the sides; it felt like some kind of record, if he could be bothered to pay attention.

The voice that told him to _stop_ was fading into the distance, getting harder to hear with each hour that passed. The pain was becoming too much to bear, the burden too great to shoulder, and so his need for self-preservation was kicking in. _It'll be easier if you forget her_. Her face was still the first thing that he saw when he closed his eyes but it wasn't as clear as it used to be, her features altering and shifting like a mirage. If he reached out to touch he would only meet with disappointment, the ache of it gnawing through his bones.

At the same time, the thought of her was the only thing that was stopping him from losing all control.

She was holding everything together and she wasn't even bloody here anymore.

With everything else going on he was staying vigilant, keeping his investigations hidden. _It's bleedin' near-on impossible to work on a missing person case when said missing person is years in the soddin' future._ He drove the Quattro in circles for hours at night, half-believing that he'd come across something or else have an almighty brainwave that would lead him in the right direction. If only he could remember any of the psycho-bollocks she spouted rather than staring down the dip of her blouse then he might actually have a starting point.

Some nights he parked up opposite White's house, being careful to stay out of the glare of the lone street-lamp; the last thing he needed was the Quattro to be illuminated like a beacon, giving himself away. It was all fruitless; he might have been a poncey lawyer from a completely different plane of existence but there was nothing to say that he was part of anything dodgy. He cared for Alex, was the only person she had. Even if he did have something going on, Gene doubted whether he could bring himself to do anything to take White away from the little girl that depended upon him.

His heart ached as he contemplated, more than once, knocking on the door and asking to see her. He pulled himself up short, aware that it would only twist things further. The circumstances were weird enough; he didn't want to risk changing the course of time. _If that can even happen. Never mind psycho-bollocks, this is another bloody level entirely._

"Guv!"

It took him a minute or so to know where the voice was coming from, things becoming clear when he saw Ray's grin at the other end of the table.

"Hmmm?" he replied, not having the faintest idea of which way the conversation had turned, his head being too full of other things which he wanted to temporarily blot out.

"You've got a plus one to the weddin'," Chris supplied, a near-full pint in his hand which Gene was deeply envious of. "We were tryin' to decide who you might bring."

He should have just played stupid and ignored them completely.

"It's not compulsory, is it?" he answered.

"Well, I s'pose not, but..."

"Good. There's your answer." He fumbled for one of the glasses that looked deceptively close within his reach. "Is it my round?"

"We've not long got one in, Guv," Viv said, and looking round he could see that everyone else had a drink in their hands or close by. "But you did sink yours pretty quickly."

"And this is a matter of importance," Ray intoned, his attention directed firmly towards Gene. "When was the last time you got your end away?"

"That is none of your beeswax, Carling."

He was heading for a smack if he didn't shut up soon, Gene flexing his fist under the table in preparation.

Instead, he scoffed. "I'm just sayin', it explains a lot."

He couldn't be bothered with the hassle, not really giving a stuff if they all thought he'd turned into a monk. Vague memories rifled through his head, soft skin and dark hair, red satin on a bed and draping across generous curves.

"Not sayin' that you need help, Guv – "

Ray interrupted Chris quickly. "He bloody _does_."

" – but Shaz has got a couple of aunties, and one of them hasn't got a date for the weddin' either. And she's decent, you know. Nice lookin', though don't tell Shaz I said so."

"Oh ey, gettin' in with the family," Ray laughed dirtily, nudging Poirot's elbow.

"But she's nice to talk to, as well. She got divorced a couple of years ago, so you'll 'ave loads in common."

"Look, the Guv doesn't want some cast-off bird who's gettin' on. What 'e's after requires a younger model," Ray murmured, the leer evident in his voice.

He didn't want anyone else, a one-night stand or otherwise. He didn't care if he never got his rocks off again. If it wasn't going to be with Bolly, he didn't care. He wanted to be left alone with the fragments of the moments he could remember, as well as a crate-load of booze, but they wouldn't leave him alone.

"Will the both of you give it a rest?" he barked, taking himself a little by surprise. "Chris, tell Shaz's auntie whatever. If she's that hard-up then I'll be 'er date. Just for the night, mind, nothin' more."

It shut them up and got them off his case, for long enough that he could wallow in the pain of loneliness, a feeling that he should have become well-accustomed to by now.

The night moved on, and he slipped further, as he was happy to do. Bolly's voice fading quicker, until there were no boundaries that he cared enough to keep to.

Before he left Ray pressed a piece of paper into his open hand. Gene blinked at it, thinking that the address seemed familiar.

"If you change your mind and need somethin' else to pick you up, or warm you up," Ray said with a smirk stretching upon his face. "It's been a while since I went, but the door's always open, figuratively speakin'. And you would 'ave your pick, I'm tellin' you."

"Go home, Ray," Gene responded, reaching for the glass that was nearly drained.

Ray clapped him on the back. "Good night, Guv. Don't let things keep you up."

He held the piece of paper in his palm for a few seconds before scrunching it into a ball, returning to his sin of choice despite the disapproving looks of the Italian behind the bar.

He was more at home with greed than lust these days.

* * *

The shock dissipated further, leaving confusion lingering in its wake, the feeling one that shifted into something else that she didn't have a name for as it took root. The doctor and nurses kept a vigilant watch on her, even the mysterious Mr Gerrard taking time out of his busy schedule to pay her a visit. He didn't look quite how she expected him to, but it was the least of her concerns. She was doing well, they all told her; it was really quite miraculous that she hadn't been more seriously affected physically.

 _That doesn't explain what has happened to my mind._

She had seen sight of herself in a mirror, no longer denying what was quite clearly true. Her fingers traced the fine lines upon her face and the crow's feet branching from the corners of her eyes. Her hair greyer than it was dark, though the transformation had a few more years until it was complete, probably. Initially it came as a surprise, not to see herself as she was used to in the same dimension – or to recognise herself in her '80s incarnation – but she acclimatised quickly.

Her appearance was not the thing she was concerned with. The visual did not provide her with the information she was so desperate to know.

The fundamentals that would tell her exactly who she was.

She felt awful relying on Molly so much but it appeared that there was nobody else, with Evan gone and Gene unconscious. Her daughter was incredibly patient, answering the endless questions she asked of her and calling time before she became too overwhelmed. She did find herself exhausted by all of the details she absorbed, the history of her life that she was learning as though she was a student, and slept for longer hours than she was ever used to. In her dreams she tried to bring the pictures to her mind, fabricating what had been real.

Everything that she couldn't remember.

Her father committed suicide when she was nine, a result of undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder. _Shellshock_ , as it was known back then. It had been a motivation for her future career, to understand more about the complexities of the human mind. To help people heal, where she could. She was still an orphan, her mother dying of a brain tumour not long after she had turned seventeen. A physical rather than a mental cause, but the location seemed to be too much of a coincidence. Her grandmother – also called Molly – was her guardian until her death four years later.

She did have a sister, Carolynne. There was only eighteen months between them. The photographs that Molly brought from home sent chills coursing through her. The resemblance could not be considered to be especially strong but she glimpsed similarities of her mother. Or rather, Caroline Price. A woman who could not have existed, at least not the way that Alex knew her.

She had been close to her sister, which made her happy. She had always yearned for a sibling growing up - or Alex Price had. Another blow came when she was told that Carolynne had been killed in a road accident in 1972, two years after Alex had joined the police force. She was engaged to be married the year later but hadn't been certain about going through with it, unsure that she had taken the right path. It seemed that fate had wished to intervene. Molly told her that her sister had been in love with Evan from afar since they had been at university together, and it had been reciprocated, but neither had the courage to act on their feelings. So it followed that Evan became something of a surrogate brother to Alex, keeping the flame of his love for Carolynne alive through their bond.

Similarly, Evan was the only person Alex had in her life in the absence of any blood relations that she knew. There were relationships but none of them got off the ground; she was far more focused on her career, making the rank of DI at an unprecedented rate. Alexandra Drake was quite the pioneer.

Her maiden name had been Drake. No relation to Pete, as far as she could determine from everything Molly had told her. A strange coincidence but far stranger things had happened.

She had been committed to her work, with successful stints at three divisions in the Met. In 1981 she transferred from Southwark to Fenchurch East, and the rest was history, so to speak.

It was all very well if this was the way her life had always been, but she remembered being someone else. That little girl who watched her parents being forever lost in an inferno of flame and smoke, the image one that was forever burned onto her brain. She _had_ been Alexandra Price. If she tried to explain it someone, even to Molly, she had the certain feeling that she would never see the light of day again.

So she stayed quiet.

If Summers hadn't got to her it must have been someone else. She only hoped that the ending had been swift and painless. Even in her most desperate of moments in her '80s existence she had not believed in the existence of heaven, but she hoped that it would be real for Alexandra. Herself, but not.

She still could not fathom how it had come to be, but it seemed as though the axes of her two worlds had wanted to meet in some manner.

She asked the nurses for information on Gene's condition. _No change_ , they told her, but failed to use the word _stable_. She chanced her arm on more than one occasion, enquiring to the young doctor whether she could be taken to the intensive care unit to see him. Her husband.

Rather predictably, she was met with a negative response. An explanation that it would likely cause more damage to her brain if she were to witness Gene in his current state. She believed the opposite to be true – no matter how extensive his injuries were or how unrecognisable he was, surely the memories would return to her if she could see him. The years arriving back again, fully formed.

 _At least let my daughter see her father._

She reached out to her bedside and the shoebox that sat upon it, which Molly had brought in on her last visit. It was filled with mementos and perfectly ordinary objects. More photographs in an envelope, which she wasn't yet emotionally ready to go through. An old iPod that belonged to Molly, seemingly full of music from the '80s and '90s.

One object from inside caught her eye as she settled the cardboard box into her lap, its silver chain glinting in the artificial light of the room. She fished out the heart-shaped pendant, holding it close to her own heart, knowing that it must have been significant in some way.

 _Because everything is. That's what I've built my belief system upon._

But when she didn't really know who she was, aside from second-hand stories that had been told to her, did having one matter?

The answer failed her, as did every other, and so she closed her eyes, the pendant eventually falling from her grasp.

* * *

As weddings went, it was one of the better ones. Shaz made a beautiful bride, a smile pinned to her face for the entire day. Chris managed to get through all the important bits without mucking up, even if he did look like a supremely soppy sod. They were both kids in his eyes so part of him felt like he was watching something that was for pretend, like those 'weddings' that happened in playgrounds between giddy schoolgirls and lads that had been dragged unwillingly away from playing footie. Yet anyone could look at the pair of them, exchanging smiles and glances as well as rings, and be witness to the love that existed between them. Love like that wasn't a guarantee to everyone.

He thought of Sam and Annie, sitting in the front pew of the church like a numpty as he watched them getting hitched. Sam had to ask him for the ring and there was a moment where he genuinely thought he'd forgotten, left it behind on one of the many stops on the stag do. The grin on Tyler's face when he passed it over had filled him temporarily with the same infectious feeling, swiftly replaced by relief that he'd escaped Cartwright's left hook. The lass could throw punches to rival any bloke.

He often wondered what had happened to her. He assumed that she was still in Manchester, feeling like a bastard that he hadn't bothered to check, being too consumed by his own grief to check. Poor cow had taken it bad, resigned from her post and cut herself off from the world, like she wanted to will herself to stop living as well.

He'd felt pain at losing Sam, obviously, but it wasn't until now that he really understood Annie's plight. It was like he was only one half of a whole, sitting there and being seen but fundamentally incomplete.

The music was blaring; almost everybody was dancing and if they weren't then they were raising their glasses to the happy couple. His had long since been emptied and he hadn't the inclination to go to the bar and get another, not being sure of whether he could restrict himself. He was supposed to be on his best behaviour and he'd been trying damn hard.

She remained next to him, Shaz's auntie who he'd been reluctantly set up with, and he knew she stayed only out of courtesy. Not that there was anything wrong with her. She was good-looking, could hold a conversation for longer than two minutes and seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, even if he was talking a load of crap. If the circumstances were different then there might have even been a few dates in it.

He looked at her as she spoke, trying to listen. For the life of him he couldn't remember what her name was, other than that he thought it began with a T. _Tina_ , or maybe it was _Tanya_. Or was it even _Tracey_? She'd been nothing but polite so he wasn't going to embarrass them both by asking for a reminder.

"Look, love," he shifted in his seat, "I think I'm gunna head off...not that it hasn't been nice, and you've been great."

She flashed him a white smile, an almost mutual understanding in her eyes. "You mean, _'It's not you, it's me'_?"

"Yeah... 'm sorry. It's just...been a while, you know."

"There's no need to apologise, Gene. You're a lovely bloke, but I think we both know that there isn't a spark there."

He managed a smile in recognition and relief, though the feeling wasn't so great as to overcome his general sense of deflation.

"Sharon was probably trying to be helpful, as she always is. I'll just say that we had some differing opinions, and trust you to stick to the same story."

"Can do," he tipped her a half-hearted wink. "Never been called 'lovely' before."

Her smile deepened. "I don't think I believe that. Get back safely, and thank you for today. I could have had it a lot worse."

"Same 'ere." At least he felt he'd done something by saving her the fate of being felt up by a very drunk and randy Ray. "Take care of yerself."

He noticed that she was up dancing before he'd even left, casting a glance back at the party before he slipped out unnoticed, leaving the noise and laughter behind him. It was only right that he went; he stuck out like a sore thumb, a picture of misery amongst all the happy souls, lives that were brimming while he felt like less than a ghost.

He wanted nothing more than to stop thinking about her but she was a permanent presence in his mind. The only source of light, which was ironic given that it was having her there which made him feel so bloody wretched.

 _It's her fault that I feel like this. She should be 'ere, to see the mess that she's caused._

He was pissed off with her for making him feel this way. He hated the thought of her joining in the party, looking drop dead gorgeous in some tight-fitting dress, laughing and dancing with the rest of them. If she did turn up, by some miracle, then he should be the only one allowed to see her. He'd pull her from her feet before she could take another step in her red heels, carry her off with her arms wrapped about his neck and the look of annoyance on her pretty face swiftly replaced with one of desire.

 _It's been too long, Bolly._

She filled his head to the point where each step he took down the street was an ordeal, his chest tight and his breathing difficult. He rifled in his pockets for the cigarette packet but found it lacking. What was worse was the craving for nicotine wasn't the only one he had. Feeling horny was a combination of thinking of Bolly non-stop and being in female company for most of the day. Predominantly the former.

Not in the least bit proud – incredibly ashamed and feeling like he was no better than if he had crawled out of the gutter – he hailed a passing cab and gave instructions to the driver. He had enough sense not to ask for the exact street but somewhere that was within short walking distance.

At least it was dark enough and quiet enough for him not to be noticed as he made his way to the establishment, Ray's instructions memorised in his head. He'd stopped fooling himself that he hadn't been considering it ever since he was handed that scrap of paper. The only reason he'd put it off was through a weird kind of guilt that he'd be being unfaithful, which was bloody ridiculous. Nothing was going to bring her back to a place where she didn't belong, and he needed to get on with his life and stop acting as though he worked in a mortuary or otherwise a monastery.

He made sure not to knock too loudly on the door of the house that looked like any other on the street. A woman in her late sixties opened it and he hesitated, hoping that she wasn't representative.

"Step inside, darling," she rasped in a nicotine-coated voice, and he bundled himself in the door sideways, still wary of being spotted in the pitch-black of the night outside.

The place was covered in strings of fairy lights and he followed the old doll through a long corridor to the back room where to the relief of his libido a number of younger women were assembled in frilly garments, varying in their states of dress.

"We're quiet tonight, so you've got your pick of the bunch," the madam informed him, a neatly manicured hand placed on his shoulder.

He worked to quiet the voice in the back of his head that told him that he was way past all of this, the seediness and secrecy. One of the girls looked no older than twenty; he should have been rounding them up and bringing out his warrant card to shut the place down.

Instead he ignored his better judgment, putting his mind elsewhere. He paid little attention to the line up pushing out their chests and fluttering their eyelashes and stepped towards the one second from the end, brunette curls sitting upon her shoulders and red lipstick slathered on her plump mouth.

The resemblance was only something he'd think about later, wrapping himself in covers to quell the shame.

"Let me lead the way," she said in a sultry tone, slightly put-on. He linked his hand with hers, following her up the staircase, the sound of her stilettos sharp upon the uncarpeted wood.

His heart was in his throat when she locked the door of the bedroom behind them, removing his tie so that he could actually attempt to get some air into his lungs.

"Make yourself comfortable," she uttered, sounding more relaxed now that they were alone. He blinked at her as he sat on the end of the bed that was squeezed into the small room. She had legs that went on forever, black lace peeking out from underneath the negligee she was wearing. "I'll do the same."

She took off her flimsy robe and sidled up to where he was sitting, wearing a seductive smile as she slipped the straps of the negligee down, giving him a first-class view of her cleavage. He felt strangely out of his depth, even though he'd been in a similar position before. Without thinking he leant forward, aiming his lips at hers.

"Not allowed to do that," she reminded him, pulling back though there still wasn't a great deal of space between their bodies, "though I wish I could make an exception for you."

She looked at him with a heavy-lidded gaze, the strong perfume that she was doused in invading his senses as she leant even closer to him.

"You've got gorgeous eyes," she said, tracing her fingers from his throat down his torso, undoing the buttons on his shirt as she went, "and nice arms...I bet everything about you is just as impressive."

He got rid of his shirt and vest, watching eagerly as she slipped out of the negligee and unclipped her bra. She sat back down on the bed, her hand diving straight to his belt and fly.

He didn't mind that there wasn't a lot of build-up. He just wanted to get it over with, feel the heady rush of release. It would have been better if he could kiss her – he felt disconnected from the situation at the moment – but he couldn't really complain too much.

"Oh yeah," she purred in his ear as her hand went into his boxers, "very impressive, indeed."

Well, he was glad that she thought so, considering he wasn't hard yet. Not even a semi. It was awkward, considering there was a sexy nearly-naked bird right next to him and he wanted to shag her. At least, he thought he did. He wouldn't have come here in the first place if it was an urge he thought he could take care of himself. Come to think of it, he couldn't recall the last time he'd tossed off aside from it being a necessity.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting himself on the bed, her hand still down the front of his trousers. "It doesn't usually take this long."

"It's alright," she said with a smile, her eyes glinting, "I don't mind revving you up a bit longer."

Her fingers continued to stroke him, moving deftly and doing everything that should have had him raring to go and more besides, but still there was no change. The embarrassment he felt surged up to flush his face with colour and after a few more embarrassingly long minutes he pulled back, causing her to release her grip. He didn't want to cause the poor girl an injury and his pride couldn't take much more of a battering.

"I'll pay you double," he offered by way of apology, reaching for the wallet in his discarded jacket. "'ow much was it, a hundred?"

"No, it's fine," she said, covering herself up with her robe as he hastily put the clothes he had shed back in place.

"It's no trouble. It's the least I can do," he said, taking the notes that added to two hundred out and handing them over.

She smiled weakly. "I haven't been doing this very long. You're my second."

A fresh wave of guilt washed over him, accompanied by rage that she should have to resort to giving sad middle-aged men their kicks.

"It's all on me, love. Don't go blaming yourself." He wanted to tell her to get out as well as tell the old bat where to shove it. "I'm sure it would 'ave been great."

Her face brightened as she put the payment into a faded silver box. "Stay for a bit."

 _Make it look realistic and not an embarrassment for us both_ , was what she really meant.

He left after forty minutes or so; what felt like the longest forty minutes of his life. He found himself thinking about the prossies he'd gone to before and what a selfish bastard he'd been in the past, not to mention tight. Another cab hailed – thankfully with a different driver to the one who had dropped him off – and he was back at his house before midnight struck. He forewent the temptation of the kitchen, realising that he'd drunk everything that was in anyway and so it would have only been a bitter disappointment.

He definitely didn't need more of that tonight.

Choosing the bed instead of the sofa, he managed to stay upright for long enough to strip off his clothes. Once that was done he buried his face into the pillow, sinking his body down and praying for sleep to claim him quickly. He'd had enough of being awake for what felt like the last two weeks straight.

 _He turned onto his side when he felt a hand brushing against his arm. He thought he was fooling himself into thinking that the persistent touch felt familiar, the soft scrape of fingernails on his skin causing goosepimples to rise._

" _Gene," she whispered and his heart contracted so much that he thought he was in the early stages of a heart attack. He couldn't mistake that perfectly plummy voice._

 _He opened his eyes and sure enough there she was, lying next to him, hair in waves and wearing a black silk nightie._

" _Bols," he uttered, unable to stop his gaze from roaming her. "Alex. Is this a dream?"_

" _Yes," she replied, and though he knew it was the logical explanation his heart plummeted to hear her confirm it. "Do I look different?"_

" _You look bloody delectable. God, I miss you."_

" _I miss you too," she said, moving her body even closer to his. He felt the contrast of cool silk and heat from beneath, barely containing the growl from leaving his throat. "You can touch me, you know. I'm not going to disappear."_

" _I don't know that, do I? Woke up one day and you'd gone." His hand travelled from the top of her thigh up her side. "Never even got the chance to say goodbye. Didn't think I pissed you off that much."_

 _She smiled, pushing into his touch as his hand traced the curve of her breast._

" _We'll be together again. I promise. You just need to be patient."_

" _Not me strongest suit," he huffed, "anyway, I'm gunna be seventy-odd when I make it to 2008. Old enough to be your bloody dad, Bolly, if not yer granddad."_

 _Her laughter was sweet, the feel of her even sweeter. Her nipple swelled underneath the silk and he couldn't stop his fingers from circling it, his pride reaffirmed when he registered the gasp leaving her lips._

" _Oh, Gene," she uttered breathily, her hand caressing the nape of his neck, "I need you."_

 _The blood rushed and roared through his veins at her touch upon his skin, heading south quickly._

" _Not as much as I need you, Bols..."_

 _A single press of her mouth to his and it was as if he had been reborn, the sorrow that had plagued him washed away with every touch and caress she bestowed upon him. He groaned in disappointment when she broke their kisses, but his protests were quickly stopped when her hands dipped down his body, stroking the rigidity between his legs. He let out an unrestrained moan at the feel of her nimble fingers upon him, doubting he'd been as hard as this in his entire life._

" _Shit, Alex...don't stop," he pleaded, the way she was caressing him better than anything he'd ever known._

 _Her beautiful eyes glanced up at him as she slid further down the bed. "I have no intention of that, Gene."_

 _He shivered as she laid kisses on his stomach and then almost lost control completely when she took him into her mouth, her tongue flicking against the head of his cock. A string of incoherence was the best he could manage between heavy groans and murmurs of her name, his hand tangling into her silky hair as she took him deeper._

 _Before he could come she released him, and all he could do was look at her in awe as she rose like a goddess above him, feeling unworthy to even touch her though she welcomed his hands gladly as they covered her breasts._

" _I need you inside me," she murmured, and he muttered his agreement with a "God, yeah," before she sunk down, his hands on her waist guiding her to take all of him in one swift stroke._

 _Their bodies moved together in harmony, his grunts complimenting her breathy moans. He sat up, cupping her face and pulling her lips to his, making the most of every second of her body pressed to his, of being buried in her when he never thought he'd have the chance again._

 _They rode their pleasure together, lips and tongues desperately caressing as they got closer._

" _Come back to me, Gene," she breathed, her body arching into his, the look of bliss making itself known in her eyes as her hands stroked his face tenderly._

" _You've got to come back to me, Bols," he said, gripping onto her hips tighter, feeling his release edge ever closer as he lost himself completely in her. "Oh, Christ...!"_

He felt the uncomfortable stickiness surrounding him when he woke, satisfied in one sense of the word but otherwise bereft, knowing he'd be suffering even more now that Bolly had visited him so vividly in his dreams. It wasn't just her body he craved; it was _her_ , Alex Drake with all of her complexities and complications that drove him mad and utterly captivated him, mind, body and soul. He'd suspected it for a long time but the events of the night had proved it.

He dozed for a little bit and when he dragged himself out of bed and headed for the shower there was only one thing on his mind, bringing him the deepest pleasure and the sweetest pain.

* * *

She'd been scrolling through the iPod for what could have been the entire afternoon, letting it play out for a while then taking out the headphones when her ears started to hurt, reverberation from the blast. Each time the dull pain hadn't subsided completely before she resumed, leaning her head back upon the pillow while the largely electronic melodies filled her head.

Some of the songs were more familiar than others although she recollected them all, to some degree. The synapses in her brain couldn't quite make the logical connections; she associated each with a point in her childhood and early adolescence, instead of her adult life. So much was broken and she worried that it was beyond any repair, yet she was the only one who could perform it.

One track faded into another, with its steady pulsating rhythm – she felt as though the music was humming in her veins, not against her ears – and building harmonies, before the singing properly kicked in, the male voice a little jarring.

 _The water shines  
A pebble skips across the face  
A dozen times  
Then disappears, not a trace  
Left behind  
The thrower turns and walks away  
A change of mind  
Another start, a brand new day_

She switched it off hastily when Molly came into the room again, flushing with embarrassment, as if she was a teenager being caught looking at something she shouldn't. Her daughter smiled at her, heading immediately to the seat by her bedside.

"You taught me everything I know," she said, warmth resonating from her voice, "music now doesn't even begin to compare. What were you on?"

Alex handed the compact rectangle of metal into Molly's palm.

"Ah, _The Human League_. They're one of my faves. Along with _Eurythmics_ and _Roxy Music_."

She felt a pang of recognition, picturing herself sitting on a sofa, an empty cassette case in one hand and glass of wine in the other. Perhaps it was something she had seen on TV and she was just putting herself into the frame.

She watched Molly's thumb rotating the dial with a speed she hadn't been capable of, the smile on her face growing.

"Friday nights," her daughter began, cheeks glowing, "we used to put all of these songs on after dinner and dance around the sitting room, singing our hearts out. Every week without fail and we'd never get bored."

Alex smiled listening to Molly's recollections, brush strokes on a blank canvas. She imagined that she would have danced with her daughter, could think of little else that would have made her so full of joy.

"Did Gene...your dad join in as well?"

The grin on Molly's face contradicted the answer she gave. "He'd complain about how crap the music was, saying we should listen to something decent instead. But he never turned it off. He'd sit there with his arms crossed, pretending to be grumpy when really he loved to watch us. Sometimes he'd tap his foot along, that was a victory."

 _How much trauma can a mind take before it all becomes too much?_ It was a question she had grappled with before, specifically when it came to Sam Tyler. He had suffered and bottled things up, persisted with a number of situations he hadn't been happy in. His fantasies and delusions had been the product of pain and anguish that no outsider – herself included - could begin to comprehend. They were his way of coping. Who had she been to judge?

Her life – _this_ version of it – had been horrific. One disaster after another, though she'd apparently had a clear run for a good length of time, at least until Evan had passed. The bomb had been the trigger, the point of no return. Now everything was in fragments, smaller than the eye could detect, but perhaps it was for the good of her mind and her heart, as bruised it was. It was so fragile that it could not take being broken again, else it would shatter completely.

Molly had told her of the happiness they'd had, a life not exactly idyllic but compared to what she had been used to it had been like heaven. She thought of Gene how she remembered him and how they had been on the cusp of something. That's where they were always meant to be, it seemed; _on the edge_. If she imagined anything more it was too painful. A betrayal.

He was fighting for his life, and remembering what they'd had would only be agony, especially if the worst came to pass.

But Molly was talking, the smile upon her face brilliant and her eyes shining, and Alex couldn't have told her to stop, even if it would have been better for them all.

She was speaking about being fourteen or fifteen, the first time that she had experienced 'heartbreak' after being dumped by a boy. She'd moped around for days, refusing to speak for more than a few words at a time until the floodgates broke. Apparently she'd wept in Alex's arms for a good hour, staying there until her laments about how her life was over and that she'd never be happy quieted to silence.

"I asked what I needed to do, to find the person that I'd fall in love with. I asked what _you_ did with Dad. And I remembered that you smiled and hugged me tight, and said that you didn't know. That you and Dad were from completely different worlds and so you never could have expected to fall in love with him."

Molly's face filled with the glow of memory, Alex's words meaning more to her given that she was the one who was able to recall them.

"But you said maybe that was the reason why. That being from different places meant that you completed one another." Her daughter's voice trembled a little, stopping for a few seconds to gather herself. "You said that even if things were difficult before that Dad changed everything for you, and that was all that mattered. That certain things are meant to be, bad or good, but the very best things can never be broken. And when you're with the person you love, it's stronger than anything else in the world."

The tears had streamed down Alex's face without her being aware, but once she had registered them they were all she knew, hot against her cheeks.

"Oh, Mum," Molly gasped, her hand going to Alex's face, her thumb attempting to wipe the flood away, "please don't cry. I didn't mean..."

Alex shook her head at her daughter's unnecessary apology, pressing her mouth against Molly's palm.

 _There's so much I don't know,_ was all she could think, too aware of the emptiness in her chest. _How do I begin to put it all back together?_

Gene was the starting point. She needed to know how their relationship had progressed, from being on the edge to something far deeper. She remembered something of the feeling, of knowing that there was something about Gene Hunt which made him different from everyone else.

He had to keep fighting, but not only for her selfish needs.

Even now, with so much that she had lost and mislaid, she couldn't imagine a world without Gene in it.

Molly pulled away slowly, retrieving the iPod that she had dropped upon the bed. She scrolled again for a while, Alex watching as her tears subsided. Once she had found what she had been looking for she passed the device back into Alex's hand, closing her fingers around it.

"Dad only dances to one song," she said with a smile as Alex looked at her with wide and curious eyes. "I sat on the stairs once while you were dancing to it in the sitting room. You told me that it was your wedding song, though you only danced to it when you were alone. Dad wouldn't do it in front of everyone."

"Well, that sounds typical," Alex replied with the smallest of laughs.

"I think it's romantic," Molly answered, brimming with pride. "Don't listen to it when you're upset, but later on. I think it'll help."

Alex nodded to say that she would, making a cross sign over the left side of her chest. Molly smiled, leaning over again to kiss her temple. Such a strange role reversal but one that she could live with for now.

The room was too quiet without Molly in it and left alone with her thoughts, but she managed to sleep for a couple of hours. Enough time for the sorrow to fade, even though it was always lingering.

On waking she reached for the television remote, turning over from the news bulletin past the game shows, settling on a nature documentary. She watched for a while, unable to concentrate for too long, as seemed to be the norm for her now. The iPod glinted from the bedside and she curbed her eagerness to pick it up, keeping her movements slow and trying to guess what it could have possibly been, the soundtrack to one of the pivotal moments of her life.

She smiled when her curiosity was answered, even if it hadn't been amongst her choices. She couldn't remember being particularly enamoured by _Spandau Ballet_ , and she was fairly sure that Gene wouldn't have had a secret penchant. It was probably because it had been popular at the time, she reasoned.

It took her a few days to get the courage to listen, and when she did it all seemed to make sense. She hadn't expected to have such a reaction to what was a nice, perhaps even overly slick love song. It felt as though she had been hit in the chest, the ache echoing through her body.

The lyrics spoke for them then and how she seemed to feel for Gene now, even as she was situated in the ruins.

 _So true, funny how it seems  
Always in time, but never in line for dreams  
Head over heels when toe to toe  
This is the sound of my soul_

 _This is the sound_

* * *

He was the first in the station, which was getting to be a common occurrence. The night skipper wasn't surprised to see him turning up at not long gone six o'clock, cheerily thanking him when he relieved him from duty an hour early. He thought to himself that it wasn't a bad job, at least not if you were on your own without a wife or family. Anyone trying to break in that time of day would probably be a piss artist and he could easily deal with them.

 _Takes one to know one_ , and all that.

Something stopped him from heading straight to his office, and so he found himself lingering in the main room of CID. He wandered about for a bit, restless, and then when that started to become boring leant against one of the desks – Ray's, from what he could identify lying on top – looking around at his empty kingdom.

This was all he had to show for his life. _Not a great deal._

He fixed his gaze on one desk in particular, the sorrow sinking in his chest. The explicit dream that had woken him in quite a state clear in his mind. He couldn't get past the simple fact that it wasn't hers anymore. That someone else had marched in and claimed the space as their own, not that it was Parker's fault that Bolly was no longer here. Yet he still resented the newest member of the team for taking her place.

Well, that was wrong. _She's irreplaceable._

He was drawn over like a man possessed, imagining her sitting in the chair. Trying _not_ to imagine her sprawled over the top, long legs crossed seductively. Nothing of her remained, if it was even there in the first place. He wasn't doolally; never mind what everyone else maintained, he knew that she had been here. She had existed here, even if he didn't have the foggiest how it could have been possible.

Parker's stuff was laid out upon the desk instead, the nameplate clearly marking out the territory. Notepads, some files from the case they had been working on. A poofy-looking organiser. His trenchcoat draped upon the back of the chair. He'd told Parker that thing made him look like a bloody flasher and tried to get him wearing something else, but to no avail.

As he gazed at the stupid garment he noticed something sticking out of one of the pockets. He told himself to ignore it, but the command didn't seem to work.

 _I'm not a snooper. Don't give two shits about what Dozy is hidin'._

Quickly looking round to be sure that nobody else was in the vicinity he dipped his hand, retrieving the torn piece of paper. It took him a while to decipher what was written; Parker had worse handwriting than a doctor.

The more he looked at it, the clearer the scrawl became.

 _Docklands. 19/6/83._

 _20/7/08._

 _Arthur Layton._

 _DI Alex Drake..._

His heart in his throat, he replicated the note before stuffing the original back into Parker's pocket.

That lying little toerag would get what was coming to him, but right now it was the least of his concerns.

He'd been searching for what felt like forever, and now he had a lead.

A way back to Bolly.

* * *

 **A/N: _Come Back And Stay_ sung by Paul Young and written by Jack Lee.**

 _ **Mirror Man**_ **sung and written by The Human League.**

 _ **True**_ **sung by Spandau Ballet and written by Gary Kemp.**

 **These two really hurt my heart...**


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17_

The unlucky sod who had been left behind whilst the rest of the gang had scarpered was slumped against the wall, head drooping level with his knees. The laboured breathing resounded, along with a few whimpers here and there. After a couple of minutes had passed without some anguished noise escaping he scrabbled up, hands upon the brick for support. The attempt was thwarted before it had begun in earnest, Ray's laughter masking the groan of pain as Gene's fist socked the two-bit criminal square in the stomach.

"Thought I was finished?" Gene spat, pressing the bloke's face firm against the wall with one hand, "I'm only just gettin' started."

He dealt out a couple more blows at the same target, the toe of his boot kicking at weak ankles and his ears deaf to the pleas that came from the scrawny scrote. The effort quickly became too much to keep up and he stepped aside, resisting the urge to clutch at his chest at the same time as he gasped in metallic-tinged air. Ray and Chris eagerly took his place, fists aimed.

"Fill yer boots, lads."

The pair of them dutifully hammered away at the weakling of the bunch whose protests had long since fell silent, nearly unable to do so much as breathe in the face of a relentless onslaught.

The stretch in Gene's chest abated as he leant against the same wall a few paces away. He took a couple of slugs from the hip flask retrieved from the inside pocket of his overcoat to be on the safe side, enjoying the burn of the scotch as it coated his throat. Vaguely aware of the disapproving pair of eyes that were upon him he shifted his weight, lips curling into a sneer on regarding the DI. His second-in-command, standing there almost as still and stony as a statue.

"What yer waitin' for, Parker?" he addressed the fourth man with a rasp that barely disguised his contempt, "get stuck in."

The wheezes and groans and snatches of laughter that came from his right and Parker's left sounded ten times louder for a while as the DI did nothing other than stare at him, hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, an equivalent level of disdain etched upon his face.

When he broke the silence his answer came so low that Gene struggled to hear, the other sounds rushing and swirling against his ears. Maybe he was going deaf as well as insane.

"Think three against one is enough, Guv."

He didn't like the way Parker said _Guv_ , as though someone invisible to Gene's eyes was holding a gun to his head and forcing him to utter it.

He had no belief, no sense of how important it was to muck in and be part of a team. The only back he wanted to cover was his own.

"Worried yer gunna break a nail?"

He swore that Parker's lips moved, saying something that he couldn't catch, something much closer to his true feelings and not the deference he had to display.

All he heard was a resigned 'yeah', watching as Parker turned his back on the scene and moved back towards the parked-up Quattro.

He put his second wind down to the booze and the breather, not any need to prove the simple fact that he was the one in charge. No bastard could get the better of Gene Hunt and walk away unscathed, never mind what side of the law they were on.

He tapped one hand each on Ray and Chris's shoulders, signalling that it was time for them to step aside and let the sheriff take over again. They looked at him with the respect that he deserved, eyes aglow as he towered, grasping the near-defeated excuse for a bloke by the throat, nearly choking away the breath that was left in him.

He wouldn't go that far; this bit of scum wasn't worth it.

"That's what 'appens when you take pot-shots at me and think that they've gone unnoticed," he said, relaxing the grip of his fingers against the clammy skin beneath them. "And I'll tell yer mates the same when I've caught up with them."

Not deigning to waste any more of his breath or other faculties he let the bloke fall to the ground, leaving Terry and Romeo to scrape him up and bundle him into the back of the squad car.

"Good to see that gettin' hitched hasn't turned you into a fairy, mate," Ray uttered to Chris as they sat in the back of the Quattro.

"No chance," Chris replied, passing his left hand over the slightly bruised knuckles of his right.

Gene sat in the driver's seat, hands unmoving on the wheel, fighting off the regret that had been building within him since the whole thing began. Parker sulking silently in the passenger seat, grating upon his nerves without doing anything.

If he turned his head to look he would have seen her sitting there, the rage and disappointment unrestrained in her eyes. She didn't say anything in front of Ray and Chris but she'd be at him as soon as he was on his own, taking him apart when he'd only done what was right. At least it had been, once upon a time.

He put the car into reverse without warning, garnering a sharp "steady on, Guv!" from Ray in the back before speeding forth, most likely breaking limits that hadn't yet been put into place.

He was long past caring, despite what anyone might think.

* * *

 _It was far too cold to be sitting in the Quattro, talking about nothing and everything. Luigi had shut early for the past two nights, much to Gene's chagrin, and now she was busying herself with thinking about Italian traditions when it came to the festive season, along with keeping moving physically, arms pinned tight to her chest until it was essential that she unfurl them, prising her icy fingers apart to reach into her pocket for the key to the flat._

" _We could 'ave gone elsewhere," Gene mumbled behind her back as she wrestled with the lock. The chivalrous thing would have been to help her, especially seeing as he had his gloves on, but instead he kept up his complaining. "There's a good boozer a few roads down. Wanna show you it."_

" _Another time," she sighed, thinking that surely every pub was exactly the same, aside from being populated by a different set of soaks. She cheered inwardly as the pesky lock gave way, opening the door to the miracle of warmth. "For now I just want to go inside and wrap myself up."_

 _Now that she knew that heat and comfort were only a matter of seconds away she could let her mind turn to different matters, her voice becoming seductive as she curved her body halfway between the open door and the bulk of Gene's frame._

" _Preferably around you, Guv."_

 _He extended an arm, boxing her in the small space. Anyone else and she would have felt quite claustrophobic._

" _Yer quench me thirst better than a pint any day, Bols."_

" _Funny," she smiled, her eyes flickering to his parted lips, temptingly close within reach, "you only ever increase mine."_

 _He bundled her inside, pressing his mouth to hers, and the encounter unfolded quickly – no stain whatsoever on his prowess, the frantic passion precisely what she needed this evening. It took longer for her nerve endings to stop buzzing, her head and one hand resting upon his chest while the other still clutched onto the bedsheet to cover their rapidly cooling bodies, rather than being the victim of the euphoria that fuzzed her mind._

 _Her comfort was interrupted when Gene stretched out to the drawer at the bedside, forcing her to move._

" _I'm givin' you this now," he uttered, never needing any explanation as he presented the package wrapped in garish paper, the same which she was sure she had seen poking from the top of Chris's desk._

" _It's the 23_ _rd_ _," she could only think to respond, her head still not working properly and not given much of a chance to recover as he stared longingly at her, "you couldn't think to wait a couple of days?"_

 _The corners of his mouth twitched for the smallest, most imperceptible of seconds._

" _I've waited long enough, Bolly."_

 _The quiet and sincere pleading in his voice went straight to her heart, not something she was accustomed to hearing. She lingered unthinkingly, holding the gift in her hands without moving to tear off the smallest scrap, still so affected by the emotion he was learning to be comfortable with showing._

" _Well, 'urry up and get it out," he hurriedly barked, "put me out me bleedin' misery."_

 _Those last words were said almost under his breath, and she smiled towards him as she wrestled with the paper and then the box, her hands made clumsy by factors other than the biting cold._

" _Gene," she sighed his name, taking the pendant out of the velvet-lined box, tracing her fingertips around the silver heart that sat in her palm._

 _This wasn't something she had expected. She wasn't sure what she did expect; he kept surprising her in the last few months. She couldn't imagine what might come next._

" _If you 'ate it, then I'll take it back." He had mistaken her stunned silence for dislike. "I mean, I 'aven't got a receipt, but I did buy it. Swear on me nan's grave."_

 _She took her gaze from the heart with its glistening diamond, shaking her head as her eyes met his once more. "I don't hate it. Quite the opposite, in fact."_

" _Thank Christ for that." He went closer to her, crawling on his knees. "Took me bloody ages to pick it out."_

 _She couldn't take the smile from her face, going between admiring the necklace and looking at Gene, getting thrills from the adoring expression upon his face. Eventually she turned around, placing the delicate chain into Gene's hands so he could fix it into place, shivering contentedly when his fingers brushed her skin._

" _Looks good on yer," he remarked approvingly when she turned back, wordlessly seeking his opinion. She noticed that his gaze dropped a few inches lower after a few seconds and laughed to herself. Probably best to wear it just for special occasions, although she was never going to take it off her person._

" _You have good taste," she commented, slipping her fingers beneath where the chain sat upon her collarbone._

 _He nodded. "Yer proof of that, Bols." His hands made their way to her waist, idly stroking at her hipbones. "Bloody expensive, an' all."_

" _Don't call me Bolly for nothing," she laughed, pressing a kiss against his cheek, her fingers caressing the back of his neck. "Thank you, Gene. It's beautiful, and I'll always treasure it."_

 _He smiled a smile that was becoming less rare, at least to her. Staring at each other provided enough fulfilment for their desires for a minute or so until he pulled her forward – she would have pushed if he hadn't taken the initiative – and their lips met again, falling into a rhythm that had become second nature but was no less exhilarating._

" _My present for you is going to look rather poor in comparison," she spoke between heated kisses, murmuring against his mouth._

 _For a little while she had forgotten they were both still stark naked, but then he reminded her quite clearly of the fact and she smirked as she was prodded insistently just above her stomach._

" _I'm sure I'll find some way you can make it up to me, Bols," he replied, swallowing a groan as her hand trailed down his body._

" _Hmmm, probably," she smiled, fingers wrapping carefully around him, head falling back as he dealt out kisses upon her neck. "Talk about Christmas come early."_

 _He chuckled against her skin, hands pulling her yet further forward. "I 'ope that's the only thing that does."_

 _She wasn't sure whether it was better that it had happened on a Sunday morning, and not when they were on duty, worst of all out in the field. The pain had been faint at first and she had made to get out of bed to go to the toilet slowly, so she didn't disturb Gene, who was fast asleep._

 _Her screaming had woken him with a start._

 _There was so much blood, everywhere. When she could bear to think back she would wonder how he didn't feel it._

 _She wanted to stay put where she felt safe, only have his arms around her getting her through the worst of it, even though she didn't know exactly what that part was. He was insistent on taking her to the hospital, dressing her in a robe and carrying her out to the Quattro. She didn't think of the snow, feeling numb enough without it. He drove faster than she wanted him to, though she could understand why. She couldn't stop herself from crying, the tears tight in her throat as he laced her fingers with his, squeezing her hand, speaking words of reassurance._

 _She told him otherwise, though it hadn't helped either of them._

" _It's too late, Gene." She clutched at her abdomen with her free hand, the echoes of pain pulsing at her. "It's too late."_

 _She kept him out of the bedroom for too long when they got back to the flat. Told him to go for a drive or to the pub, she just wanted to sleep. She couldn't close her eyes for long enough without being tormented by images that she had taken for granted would become reality in a few months time._

 _It was long dark outside when he sheepishly knocked on the door to the room. She murmured in reply, turning onto her side to come face to face with him. She was still so sore._

" _Alex," he crouched to her bedside, looking into her eyes._

 _She had never felt so much guilt in her entire life._

" _Please, Gene," she breathed, "don't. I don't..."_

 _His bottom lip pouted and he made to move away from her. It was the last thing she wanted._

" _Sorry. I'll...erm...I'll go."_

" _No." She clung onto his hand with a ferocity she didn't think she was capable of that moment in time, her knuckles turning white, her eyes wide as they roamed his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gene. This is my fault."_

 _His face shadowed, eyes darkening as they stayed looking into hers. "Don't you dare say that. This is not your fault, love." His free hand went up to stroke her hair. "I won't 'ave you sayin' that."_

 _She felt weak as the tears streamed from her eyes down her cheeks, adjusting so that she was level with him._

" _It is," she persisted, her throat burning._

" _Alex..."_

" _I lose everyone," she exclaimed before he could say anything to comfort her. "Everyone who is close to me...I've lost them all. So it must be me. It must."_

 _Her shoulders shook as the tears came harder. It wasn't fair. He had known for less than two weeks. She should have told him sooner, but then she thought perhaps it was a blessing that he hadn't got too used to the idea._

 _He had taken her into his arms, held onto her tight and let her sob into his shoulder._

" _What...what if I..." She couldn't bear to think of it. "What if I lose you too?"_

 _It would be the end of her completely._

 _He pulled her away from him enough that he could look into her eyes, hands cupping both sides of her face. Her tears were soaking the skin of his fingers._

" _You are never gunna lose me," he told her, his voice steady and his eyes clear, his thumb rubbing little circles upon her cheek. "Never, Alex. Ever."_

 _She managed the smallest of smiles before her face crumpled again, unable to look at him for too long._

" _God...come 'ere, love."_

 _She fell into his arms and stayed there for the rest of the night, until he had to leave for work the next morning, but he promised he'd come back. She nearly thought that she would stop breathing, only starting again when he closed the door behind him the next night._

 _She didn't know if she was sure, or if she was merely dreaming, but she thought she heard him cry along with her._

* * *

Sitting in his office, he did his best to ignore the pain that stretched the length of his back and the way his hands were still throbbing. The whisky helped, for all of a couple of minutes.

 _Christ, I'm gettin' too old for this._

He thought about the idea of handing in his card and everything that went with it with greater frequency now. It was tempting; sell it all up for a little somewhere in the Costa Del Sol, spend the rest of his days frying in the sun and treating himself to a diet of fry-ups. There were likely more than enough dodgy ex-pats there to keep his brain occupied, without all the paperwork and red-tape that was getting to overshadow doing the job that he was meant to.

The dream lost its shine quickly. For all his years of service he didn't have much in the way of savings and doubted that he'd make much flogging what he did own. He'd built a kingdom for himself here and he'd be damned if he let it go to ruin in the hands of someone else who didn't have the first clue of what it took to be DCI of Fenchurch East. The force was his life, ever since he'd been a lad barely out of short trousers, so he might as well stick to what he knew; staying where he could make a difference, even though it didn't feel like he was fit for much at the moment.

 _It's just a bad patch. Happens to the best of 'em._

He glanced towards the far wall, the shelf containing the darts trophies and the solitary picture of Her Majesty in her Coronation regalia. He wasn't really sure why but he raised a glass to her.

 _You're the Manc Lion. King of the Jungle. Things knock you down, you lie low for a bit, lick your wounds and then come out stronger than before._

He was right, he thought, but then he was also sick of the sound of his own voice. Then again, he wasn't sure that he wanted to listen to another.

Anyway, what was the point of running off to the sunshine when there wasn't anyone to share it with?

The image of Bolly in a tight swimsuit – _scratch that_ , a bikini – came unbidden to his mind, her hands tenderly rubbing aftersun on the blistering skin of his shoulders.

One of the biggest regrets of his life; that he'd never had the pleasure of seeing that lovely sight for himself instead of only dreaming about it.

It was probably a good thing that the knock on the door interrupted his thinking, otherwise he could have landed himself in a lot of trouble.

Parker's face and his hesitant stance standing in the doorway irritated him to no end. He knew he needed to try harder but the bloke just pushed all of his buttons.

"Don't bloody dither, Dozy," he commanded, aware that the DI disliked the nickname. He hadn't been able to come up with anything better or more fitting.

After another minute Parker closed the door behind him though he stayed fairly close to it, keeping his distance from the desk which suited Gene down to the ground.

"The guy in custody..."

"Is a piece of scum," Gene decided to finish Parker's sentence for him, "tell me somethin' I don't know."

Parker huffed out a breath before continuing. "Doctor's examined him and he's in a bad way. Several bruised ribs. One of them might be broken."

Gene raised both hands, propping his feet up on the desk in an act of defiance. "What d'you want me to do about it? Buy 'im some grapes?"

The DI ran a hand through his hair, leaving the question hanging in the air. "I know I'm second-in-command..."

"That's right, you are."

 _Who gave him the right to come in 'ere, tellin' you what to do? Nobody does that._

He huffed louder this time, ensuring that Gene couldn't just push aside what he was going to say without a second thought.

"I just think things would go better if we thought about what we were doing before going in, all guns blazing."

"We? _We_?" He was thinking that he shouldn't have let Dozy in to begin with. "I dunno if you've noticed, but Queen Liz is sitting up there, not with a bloody desk outside."

"There's a suspect in our care who can barely string two sentences together because his jaw has nearly been smashed to pieces!"

Even if he was ranting about the wrong thing, Gene was impressed and also surprised that Parker had got so fired up when so far he'd shown all the enthusiasm and commitment of a damp dishcloth.

"Well, it'll teach 'im not to shoot his mouth off and expect to face no consequences."

"And while you were busy beating him to a pulp, the others got away."

"You could 'ave gone after them, seein' as you were about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican! Anyway, don't tell me you never 'ad your share of scuffles at that public school of yours. Did yer just lie there and take it when one of the bigger blokes used 'is rugby tackle on you?"

Parker's face went back to its usual stony guise. "This isn't about me, Guv."

"Damn right, it isn't." He didn't stand to square up to the DI, feeling like he'd only be proving the point, but he did straighten himself up, removing his legs from where they had been draped across the desk and leaned over it instead. "While you're 'ere and you're under my command you do things _my_ way. You don't ask _why_ and you certainly do not think to question me. Is that understood?"

He couldn't help but think back to the many times that he and Bolly had been in the middle of blazing rows, holding the rest of CID enthralled as they bawled at one another, his office doing precisely nothing to keep things private. It seemed strange to think that she got on his nerves so much, and yet her winding him up was precisely what he thrived upon.

Never mind it being part of the reason he'd fallen for her in such a life-ruining way. She never let him get away with anything, always did what she possibly could to raise his game.

It made it all the more frustrating when Parker simply shrugged his shoulders with a quiet "yes, Guv" and headed back out of the door.

The Met's standards were definitely falling, seeing as they let any sod become a Detective Inspector nowadays.

In the quiet that returned her voice came back to him.

 _Go easy on him. Not everyone responds to the same stimulus._

"Bloody easy for you to say, Bols," he muttered under his breath, knowing that he was going round the twist to talk back.

 _He'll come round. I'm worried about you, Gene._

A different air seemed to fill the room; he swore that he felt something brushing against his arm, his neck. He closed his eyes, swallowing down a gulp of amber. _Bloody insane._

 _You're losing grip._

"Whose fault is that?"

 _That's too easy, and you know it. Please don't undo everything. All of the things Sam taught you._

"Stupid bastard didn't listen to me." _And I shouldn't be listenin' to you._

 _Don't let it have been for nothing. You and I...you have to keep it together._

He was starting to lose his rag, even if he didn't want to be angry with her.

"If you want me to do that then you shouldn't have bloody left!"

 _I couldn't control it. I had to go. I have a life..._

A life without him in it, while his was going to shit in spectacular style.

"Well, good for you, Bolly. You can bugger off and stay out of mine, at least until I need you for somethin'."

He couldn't even have a shag ever again, thanks to her. Might as well jump off a bloody roof, or blow his brains out.

Another knock on the door and the phantom of Bolly was chased away. He sighed and prepared to give both barrels to Dozy. Instead he was confronted with another member of the team.

"Christopher. Tracked down those other wasters yet?"

"Er, Terry and the lads are workin' on it."

 _Brilliant._ He was never going to hear the end of it from Parker now that squad were in charge.

"A call's come through from Central Division," Chris continued, though Gene was sure there wasn't much point in listening. "There's been a raid on that posh jewellery shop, Brokeborough's."

"Another one? Jesus, they want to do somethin' about their heavies."

"Well, that's the thing. There was nobody on site. They saw nothin'."

Gene furrowed his brow in confusion. _How the hell are we supposed to follow that up?_

"The only thing to go on is the fact that the safe and housin' room was blown to bits," Chris supplied. "It could 'ave only been a bomb, planted in advance."

* * *

The days were moving a little quicker, and she had advanced from lying in bed all day to sitting in a chair for a few hours at a time, still in her room. It was a relief in one way – she found herself being wary, if not exactly scared, about the world beyond the hospital's walls and doors, not knowing how much had changed. In other respects it was deeply frustrating.

Her world couldn't have been so limited that it could exist within these confines, but what else was there to know about?

Molly was permitted to stay for a little longer than the standard visiting times, always coming alone even though Alex had encouraged her to bring a friend. _Although, whose idea of a good day out consisted of humouring a friend's amnesiac mother?_ She requested that her daughter tell all that had happened to _her_ ; it felt horribly selfish and egotistical to constantly put the focus on herself, even if it might do something to stimulate her mind. Alex couldn't help but believe the opposite to be true; the less she raked over her own life and took in the details of what was outside of her existence, the better chance she had in remembering.

After a few days with no success the previous night had brought some slivers of hope.

"I had a dream," she explained a little tentatively as Molly sat in the easy chair opposite, "a couple, actually. I think they were dreams...they might have been memories, I don't know."

A gradual smile brightened Molly's face. "That's brilliant!" In her excitement she leaned forward quickly, grasping Alex's hand in her own. "You don't have to tell me."

Alex couldn't restrain her fond smile, unable to disappoint her daughter. It would help her to recount, she was certain, even if the latter had been distressing, causing her to wake up with feelings of guilt and emptiness and with tears pricking at her eyes.

"Well, it was just before Christmas and your Dad and I were in my old flat." She decided to omit the more graphic of details, to save both of them the embarrassment. "And he gave me this."

She held out the necklace that she was wearing by its chain, having had the immediate impulse to put it on after she had woken, giddy that she was aware of its significance once more.

"I think it was the first present he had given me."

She cradled the heart pendant with pride, running her hand over the diamond that shone despite the dim light in the room.

"I didn't know that," Molly smiled, and for a moment Alex doubted whether she had got it right after all. "I know that it's your favourite. That would make sense."

Alex smiled, looking away and twisting the chain around her finger.

"And then...it was later, but I don't think it was all that later. But maybe I'm wrong, I don't know." Or maybe it was just a dream. Surely she would have recalled something so visceral? "I feel weird asking you this, Molls."

"It's okay, Mum," she reassured, giving Alex's hand a squeeze. "I'll help, if I can. I want to."

Alex patted her hand over that which was entwined with her daughter's.

"Were...were you my first child?" Her voice began to falter as Molly's gaze changed. "I mean, you might not even know. I might not have said anything, I don't know why I would..."

"Mum," Molly said in a soothing voice which helped to put her frantic thoughts to rest. "You did tell me. I was too nosey as a teenager." She beamed a smile before turning more wistful. "You lost a baby, with Dad. Before me."

Alex felt the grief wash over her, another step removed from the pain she had experienced in the dream-memory, and then the echo from waking.

"It would have been just after the New Year in 1983," Molly continued, once again cataloguing her mother's life for her benefit, filling in the gaps. "Shaz and Chris got married in the March, and Dad proposed to you a week or so after. You thought he was trying to make up for...at first, anyway, and then he convinced you that it had been in his head all along. And you got married in the June."

"Well, it was quite the year," Alex exclaimed, sad and frustrated that she couldn't recall more of it, specifically not Gene proposing to her nor their wedding.

"And when you found out you were pregnant with me, you were absolutely furious. You said that Dad thought you were going to knock him clean out."

 _It wouldn't have been the first time,_ she seemed to recall.

"You wanted it to be just you and Dad," Molly said without a hint of resentment, "you were scared that it was going to happen again. You came round in the end, though."

Alex smiled towards her daughter, skimming her thumb over the curve of her hand. It hurt the most that she could not remember her birth. Herself as a mother, really, or Gene as a father.

"I'm sorry, Molls. One, that I put all of that on you and now that I made you bring it up again."

"Honestly, it's okay. I asked. And if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have been able to tell you now."

They smiled at one another, in apology and understanding.

"Do you think it might help," Molly started, "if you talked to someone else about this?"

"I don't know, Molls," Alex replied, letting herself drift a little. In truth she was too scared of what she would discover. What if all her pleasant memories were lost, irretrievable, and all that she could bring back was pain and suffering? Surely it would have been better to forget, in that case.

"I do," her daughter persisted. "I mean, not that I'm not happy that you're sharing it with me. But I think _I_ might be blocking things, too, by being so close to you. If there was someone with a complete lack of knowledge about you or Dad..."

"...then that might open up parts of my mind I'm subconsciously restricting." She paused to chuckle. "God, you sound like me."

"A joint honours in Psychology comes in useful, after all," Molly smirked. "I really think you should consider it. Maybe see what Mr Gerrard thinks."

Alex frowned at the mention of the specialist who was current custodian of her wellbeing.

"Are they still stopping you from seeing your Dad?"

Molly nodded, momentarily lowering her gaze. "It's 'for the best', apparently. At least while things stay as they are and there's no improvement."

"Well, changing that is going to be my priority," Alex said with a smile, keeping the rage she felt below the surface. "There'll be plenty of time for me to remember sixty-odd years of stuff."

"Mum," Molly uttered with a half-weary sigh, "you've always said that I have to pick my battles. We can't fight against the doctors. They know best."

Alex was somewhat sceptical that that was the case.

"Anyway," her daughter went on, "I think Dad would want you to. Even if he claims to not know the least bit about _psychiatry_."

"Oh, I see how it is," Alex smiled. She knew her own tricks best, and now her daughter was using them on her. "Okay, I'll think about it. But we can't get our hopes up."

"Of course not."

She didn't say anything to Molly but she didn't want to be too hasty, not when the simple act of dreaming might yet herald more.

* * *

Since the unconventional raid on the jewellery shop, Gene ensured that Fenchurch East kept tabs on the area, ears and eyes peeled for news of more. Something in his bones told him that it wouldn't be the last – why would anyone go to the trouble of planting a sophisticated device at a specific target if it was just a one-off? – and also that it added up to something more.

There were different classes of scumbags, a fact that he had quickly learned to be true when he first joined the force, and whoever was behind this was a higher breed. At least, they thought they were.

They didn't reckon on the fact that Gene Hunt was not one to have the wool pulled over his eyes, even when he wasn't at the top of his game.

Necessity and the sheer inevitably of London being a city packed to the brim with chancers and criminals meant that they had to go after other cases. His mind was being chunked up good and proper. He was still getting into the station not long after dawn each morning, poring over the intelligence that had come in overnight. _Intelligence_ was a somewhat lofty term to describe the few paragraphs that came through. The remains of the device had been examined, the conclusion being that it had to have been the work of an explosives specialist.

Bells started to ring in his mind, at the most inconvenient of times and never loud enough for him to fully grasp. Parker still kept his distance other than when it was absolutely necessary for them to work together, and Gene didn't even want to know what was bubbling under the surface – it was the good of his health.

The way things were going half the city would be blown to smithereens before they cracked it.

"Right you lot, another day, another dollar," he said, clapping his hands together, trying to get some life into the place. It was increasingly feeling like a graveyard in there. "Terry, Bammo, Poirot, you're out on street duty. The rest of you have got a shit-ton of files to work through. I don't care if it takes us the whole week, we're not leaving here until we turn somethin' up on this soddin' mystery."

"Guv," Ray exclaimed.

"I know, Raymondo, you can't make it through without a couple of pints down your neck. Think of it as motivation."

He noticed Ray and Chris exchanging a glance, and then Chris looked over at where Parker was sitting at his desk, straight as a board.

"Alright, is there somethin' goin' on that I don't know about? If any of you would care to enlighten me then that would be deeply bloody appreciated," Gene bellowed, "as would a cuppa. Christopher, where's that missus of yours?"

Shaz burst through the doors, followed by a couple of heavies and a bloke in glasses and a trenchcoat. Gene's first thought was that he must have been an associate of Parker's, although the DI looked none the wiser, if a little shame-faced. Then again, he looked like that most of the time.

"And you are?" Gene asked, wondering what the hell Shaz was playing at letting this lot in without consulting him first.

The bloke smiled, removing his warrant card with no particular impetus or haste.

"DCI Jim Keats. Discipline and Complaints. A little birdie told me that Fenchurch East was the place to be these days, and I assume that you're the one in charge."

"DCI Gene Hunt," Gene offered, standing taller in the face of threat.

Keats extended a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, DCI Hunt."

Gene took it somewhat reluctantly; the man's hand was like a firebrand, singing his skin.

"Mind if we take a walk?"

* * *

 **A/N: Ugggh, Keats - why d'you have to show up and spoil things?**


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18_

Gene was absolutely fuming as he made his way from Luigi's back to the station, the rage that had been building within him throughout the impromptu meeting seconds away from spilling out. He'd been made to feel stupid and small as this rubber-heeler sat in front of him, spouting a load of 'official' language that made next to no sense. The gist of it was enough to have him on the ropes and then the blows came fast and hard. To look at the bloke, all pursed lips and buttoned-up sneer, he never would have suspected he'd have it in him.

Then again it was always the ones who looked least likely that you had to watch out for.

The idea of steak and chips pizza became even less appealing than normal as the exchange went on, Cannon and bloody Ball flanking either side of the trenchcoated wonder. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looked down it at Gene. All the while Gene could only think about how bloody ridiculous it was. This bloke who was more at home with filing cabinets and pencil sharpeners than truncheons or handcuffs, who he'd place a good wedge on never having spent five minutes out on the streets walking the beat, having the nerve to look him in the eye and tell him that what he was doing was wrong. He was careful to throw in the odd phrase and sympathetic glance.

 _"If it were up to me, there'd still be room for the mavericks."_

Gene knew a liar when he saw one and if it wasn't for the fact that the fate of the entire division was at risk he would have had no qualms about wringing the worm's neck until he turned bright white.

" _I'm not going to make you turn your badge in,"_ he'd uttered with an air of self-satisfaction. There was not a cat in hell's chance that he would have surrendered it even if DCI Pompous Twit would have commanded. He felt it in his inside pocket, pressing against his chest. _The world will 'ave to end before they can ever prise this from me_.

He was aware that all eyes were on him as he entered CID but he stared straight ahead, the blood so tight in his veins that it was a surprise to him that he didn't seize up and drop down where he stood.

"Parker," he muttered, not looking at the DI or any of the others. Fixing his gaze at the door with his name upon it and the scribbled drawing of a lion's mane. "My office."

The room remained quiet, the silence roaring against his ears. He was forced to turn around before walking through the door he had thrown open, expecting stupidly that Parker would have obeyed the order.

He'd say that he was losing his touch, but that seemed to have happened long ago.

"NOW," he raised his voice to an uncompromising bellow, noticing how several other members of the team had fear in their eyes and their buttocks tightly clenched, "not bloody next week!"

He waited the unbearable seconds as Parker came from behind his desk, walked towards him with all the motivation of a decrepit tortoise. Gave him a side-eyed glance that he had been confronted with only five minutes or so ago. The suspicions he'd had for a while rose up again, though he'd never properly considered them until now, assuming that Parker didn't have either the intelligence or the balls to be an inside man.

Once they were both inside he flicked the blinds closed with a twist of his wrist and then moved with a speed that he wasn't aware he was capable of at his age. The whole office rattled, the ground beneath his feet shaking as he pinned Parker up against the wall, hand grasped at the DI's throat.

"Don't even think about denyin' it," Gene spat, eyes blazing and his hands killing him, "nobody else in 'ere would ever dare to pull that move. Didn't yer mam and dad ever teach yer about where snitches end up?"

"I didn't..."

He squeezed his fingers slightly, cutting off Parker's attempts to explain himself.

"I don't care what you've got to say 'cause I know it's gunna be a pile of steaming horseshit."

In all the years that he'd been DCI he'd had his fair share of officers acting up and thinking they knew better, but he'd never had the shame of one of them going behind his back. Not only that but to throw _him_ knee deep in it, grassing on him. The ultimate betrayal. From the first moment he hadn't trusted Parker but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if it was going to take him longer to settle than Tyler or Bolly.

There was no going back from this.

Parker's eyes were bulging, the colour draining from his cheeks at a rapid rate. The devil on his shoulder shouted at him to finish the job, choke the life out of the weasel. Cop turned cop killer. Quite bloody different from putting a stop to scum, but he had his reasons. They'd stand up in court, he was half sure.

He thought all the angels had deserted him ever since she'd gone but apparently one had stuck around, convinced him to release his grip and think about what he was doing. There would be no excuses, no way out. They'd lock him up for life and throw away the key. Didn't really sound like a bad life, all things considered. He listened all the same, lost in thought for a moment or two while Parker coughed and spluttered, catching his breath again.

He had a vision of her in white, with those ridiculous shoulder pads and a shock of deep red lipstick. Her hair was shorter, cropped to her neck, and she was smiling at him, extending her hand towards where he stood.

 _Gene,_ she called to him, _I'll always be here. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health._

He shook his head, squared his shoulders. Now was not the time to be distracted by things he could never have; he had to keep a grip on the reality that was threatening to fall to pieces around his feet.

"I dunno..." he began, feeling lost at sea, wondering how he'd managed to let it slip so far. Well, he knew why, and that was worse. "I mean, I know we're not exactly the best of mates."

 _That's puttin' it lightly._

Parker glanced up at him, having the decency to look shame-faced.

Gene rushed forth again, the sheer anger he felt dictating that he keep the DI fenced in.

"Need I remind you that I'm your DCI," he said, unable to stop the note of menace from creeping into his voice, "you 'ave a problem, you come to _me_. Not a bloody pencil-necked bastard who 'asn't got the faintest soddin' clue about how we go about things. That understood?"

After a few seconds Parker nodded his head, his hand still rubbing beneath the collar of his shirt.

"You don't exactly make it easy, Guv," he replied once a moment or two had passed.

Gene bowed his head. Not all of them could come around, despite all of his attention and hard work. Maybe he just needed to accept that Parker would never be one of his, but they still had to show a united front, especially now that the cards had been dealt and he hadn't an ace amongst his hand.

"They're shuttin' us down," he informed his DI of the plans of the mighty Keats and his department, each word a sharp stab in his chest. "At least, temporarily. Nothin' bigger than kids stealin' from sweet shops and old dears misplacin' their pensions until that smug knob has done 'is rounds amongst us."

He was smarting from the decision he had no power to overturn. They'd be on the verge of something huge with this jewellery shop bombing, he'd felt it in his water. Now it was getting turned over to Fenchurch West, who were still cobbling together a force from a bunch of no-marks.

"Guv, I'm sorry. Really, I am. I had no idea they'd do something like this."

He sounded sincere enough and as Gene looked at him he could see similar emotions to his own in Parker's eyes. Disbelief, exasperation. Blind rage, even if it was concealed better than his own was.

Something else too, which he couldn't quite put his finger on. Fear? A chance slipping away from his grasp. _Helplessness._

He hadn't forgotten about Bolly's name being etched upon that piece of paper in Parker's writing. He had to make the choice between finding out exactly where it played into everything and ensuring that his team could fight on to do their jobs and make their livings.

 _Sorry, Bols. I won't forget, I promise._

Parker's eyes were upon him, waiting for him to make the next move. The trails they had were long cold so he didn't have a lot of choice.

"Guv," the DI uttered again, "what are we going to do?"

"Only one thing we can do," Gene returned, pulling the driving gloves from his trouser pocket and watching Parker's gaze widen as he put them into place. "Time to fire up the Quattro. If nothin's goin' to come to us then we'd bloody well get there first."

* * *

 _Flurries of confetti were thrown at them from both sides, their closest colleagues cheering as they emerged onto the steps of the registry office. Even while Gene told them to pack it in there was more than a hint of a smile on his face, turning to look at her again. His eyes hadn't been off her for longer than a couple of seconds since she'd walked in the room with Viv at her side, acting as her guardian for the day. Ray was Gene's best man and he'd made some smutty remark that she couldn't hear and which Gene ignored, fixated on her. Chris and Shaz were sitting in the rows that were otherwise empty, both with knowing smiles on their faces, having been in the same position only a few months previous. Alex waved at them and then turned to face Gene fully, her heart fluttering wildly and hardly believing that they had ended up here. A pair of lost souls brought together by chance, or perhaps it was down to something that she'd never believed in before, at least not until now._

 _She wore the same wide smile now, laughing as she picked bits of heart-shaped paper from her hair and from the front of her dress, trying to be subtle. Her new husband was anything but as he followed the path of her fingers, his grin reflected in the glinting of his eyes._

 _The sun was blinding as it shone down upon them, having emerged from the clouds. Alex admired the way it made the gold band on her hand shimmer and shine, sitting beneath the engagement ring which clashed with it in the most wonderful way._

 _If she thought about it for too long she found it surreal. Happiness always appeared to be so fleeting. She couldn't see the darker side though, confident that all that she felt now would last a very long time._

 _Shaz rushed up to the steps towards her, holding the fur coat she had arrived in. She shook her head, wondering what she had been thinking in the first place in wearing it, given that it was the start of summer. She'd been wearing it while she was undercover at that boat party, the first time she had met Gene. Sentimental, she supposed. Thinking of how they were always meant to be._

 _Instead Shaz fixed her hair for her, plucking out the remaining stray confetti before the photographs began. Gene muttered through gritted teeth as the procession of pictures were taken, each one barely any different from the last, at one point asking the photographer if there was going to be any chance of making it to the pub before it closed for the night. Alex rolled her eyes lovingly and smiled, pressing her hand firmer to Gene's chest and angling her head towards his shoulder. She called to Shaz, draping the coat over her shoulders for the last few shots, unable to hold back her giddy laughter as the others applauded them._

 _She felt his warm breath upon her neck, shivers dancing up her spine even with the heat of the sun._

" _I know about the fur coat," he spoke into her ear, arm winding tighter around her waist, "when am I gunna get to your lack of knickers?"_

 _She couldn't stop her burst of laughter. If there was one thing that she could bank on it was that life would never be dull with Gene Hunt._

" _Calm yourself down," she chastised him, somewhat half-heartedly, "we have the little matter of a reception to attend to first."_

" _Oh, sod that," he grumbled._

" _Don't you think our wedding day is something to celebrate, Mr Hunt?"_

" _Yeah," he answered her earnest question, "I'd just rather it was a private party, if you get me drift."_

" _I always do," she replied, smirking when he gave her bum a sly squeeze, clearly keen to start the investigation into whether she really did have anything on underneath her cream dress. "We don't have to stay until the evening. I think making an appearance for a couple of hours at least is only fair."_

 _His mouth contorted into that mock-grumpy pout that she found so irresistible. Not to mention how delectable he looked in the black tie suit. Despite her pleas to the contrary she was going to have a hard job in keeping her hands off him in front of their friends._

" _They should be 'appy that I'm not sendin' them back to work on a Thursday afternoon. And Ray better not bugger things up while we're gone."_

" _He'll be fine," Alex shrugged, "what's the worst that could happen?"_

" _We could get back from Blackpool to find the place burned to the ground?"_

" _No," she said airily, somewhat regretting that she had persuaded him to leave the newly-promoted DI in charge. "It'll all be alright. Shaz is on hand to babysit, and she's the most reliable member of the team."_

" _It'll be good practise for the lass."_

 _Her smile broke temporarily, cursing herself for allowing her mind to drift when she had promised that she wouldn't think about it today. Shaz would surely be thinking about trying soon, if she and Chris weren't already doing so. She would just need to get past her own feelings of inadequacy, which were hers and hers alone to grapple with._

 _Gene had caught her thinking, squeezing her hip by way of apology for mentioning it in the first place. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that there was no need to tiptoe around her. Instead she beamed another grin towards him, telling him that she was happier than she had ever been._

" _Any regrets?" she asked him quietly, not entirely sure of why the question occurred to her._

 _His eyes and his whole expression were clear. "I don't do regrets, Bollykecks."_

 _She giggled again. "You're still going to call me that?"_

" _Don't see any reason not to," he replied, lifting her hand and raising it to his mouth. "Though I must admit, 'Mrs Alex Hunt' sounds pretty bloody fantastic to me, Bols."_

 _The warmth collected in her chest radiated through her whole body._

" _It does to me, too," she smiled, pretty sure that her face was going to be aching for days to come. "As does DI Hunt."_

" _Bloody hell, that takes me back."_

 _She thought for a moment about how strange it probably would be to have a married couple heading up a division, like something out of a television show. But she was too wrapped up in joy to consider it for very long, letting out a delighted gasp as Gene held her yet tighter to him._

" _Best get a move on, then," he rasped into her ear, "the sooner we get there, the sooner we can bugger off."_

 _She smiled as they walked down the rest of the steps, elated at the simple fact of Gene holding her hand in public. He'd hired a beautiful vintage car from the '50s to escort them back, allowing her to climb in first and bundling in close beside her._

 _The driver tipped his cap to them, glancing into the rear view mirror._

" _Congratulations to you both," he said, causing Alex to reply with a sincere 'thank you'. "Mind if I put the radio on?"_

" _Do whatever you like, pal," Gene answered, "I'll be too busy admirin' the missus."_

 _Alex shook her head, a blush filling her cheeks as the strains of a song already mid-way through filled the car from the portable radio._

 _I never done good things  
I never done bad things  
I never did anything out of the blue, woah oh  
Want an axe to break the ice  
Wanna come down right now..._

 _She heard the words of the song straining above the voices of her parents, arguing back and forth. The car rolled along and she watched a man walking by the side of the road. He smiled towards her and she smiled back, before remembering what her mother said about strangers. She thought she had seen the man before, though, or at least someone who looked very much like him._

 _They came to the side of a lorry and the car stopped. Outside she didn't see the man anymore, but saw the balloon that she had been forced to let go of floating close by. Her hand went to the handle and she pushed the door open easily._

 _Her mother was calling to her, shouting her name, telling her to get back in the car. She thought she heard Evan shouting something too, which was strange. The balloon was far enough in reach for her to catch it so she ignored the cries of her mother, skipping and then running until she was close enough to get to it._

 _She was halfway up the hill when the whole world exploded. Her mother and her father disappeared in a big blast of fire and a thick black cloud of smoke. Her balloon had gone high, high up into the air, and she started to cough, the smoke making its way into her lungs as another big blast happened._

 _A hand made its way into hers, pulling her back, shielding her from the sight before her. She looked up amidst the smoke and the mist, her face remaining straight._

 _Her mother told her never to smile at strangers._

Alex woke with a start, letting out a loud scream before she quieted, realising where she was. The room was dark, the now familiar-surroundings making themselves known in shadows. Her heart was hammering against her chest uncomfortably and there were tears in her eyes as she recalled both dreams, or rather memories.

Both were places that she knew, days that she had lived, even though they were only a couple of years apart at most.

She cried as silently as she was able, wiping the tears upon the sheets that covered her.

How could it be possible that she had lived two lives at almost the same time?

* * *

His kingdom invaded. His team reduced to working on cases that were frankly an insult to their abilities. It made him feel like shit, and he had already sunk to an all-time low.

He could easily choose to stay where he was, beneath the rock-bottom, and wallow, continuing to torment himself in wondering how it had come to this. The once-proud lion slain, waiting for the vultures to descend.

From somewhere, some unknown depth within himself, he sheltered a flicker of a flame, emerging from the refuge of his office to be amongst them. He was their leader, still, and he had to show himself as such, making a display with head and shoulders back, standing firm. Armour in place, even if the steel felt less than impenetrable, as though it could crumble to ashes at any given second.

His Royal bloody Highness deigned only to visit for as long as was necessary, no more than a minute at most as he waited to escort his next subject of interrogation. Gene tried to avoid looking directly at him, like that myth about the sun, but there was the occasion where he would catch the other DCI's gaze through those specs of his, and he'd feel his blood run cold in that split second, his heart seizing up in a way that made him panic. _And nothin' makes the Gene-Genie panic._

"It's alright, Guv," Skelton's voice shook him from his stupor; he cast his eyes to where the DC sat in front of him. "Shaz won't say anythin' to land you in it. She's good at keepin' 'er cool. I've been learning' stuff from 'er."

Gene nodded solemnly, still finding it bizarre that they were in this position. The police under investigation. Where was Sonny Jim when all hell was breaking loose at Fenchurch West?

"That sly bastard," Carling chimed in, referring without name to DI Parker, "and to think I bloody _liked_ 'im."

"We all make mistakes," Gene uttered, uncertain whether he was talking about Ray or himself, " 'e'll be cleanin' my boots as well as the bogs for the next year, so don't think 'e's got away scot-free."

Ray scoffed loudly before he sparked up. "That's gettin' off lightly in my book. If it were up to me, 'e'd be strung up faster than you can say 'misconduct'."

Several others looked over as his voice got louder and he mimed with his free hand. Gene swiftly fixed him with a warning look.

"Raymondo," he said, low and only slightly menacing, "we'll 'ave a united front in 'ere. The last thing Keats needs is to see us after each other. It'll only add fuel to his bloody bonfire."

Ray nodded ruefully, relaxing back into his chair and taking a long drag on his cigarette, the ashtray at his elbow overflowing.

"It'll be alright, Guv," Chris echoed himself, looking earnest and truly believing. "Nothin' can touch us. Try as 'e might, 'e won't break us. Not with the Manc Lion in charge."

The others added a quiet chorus of _'hear, hear'_ to DC Skelton's valiant cry, and he was temporarily buoyed. He patted a hand against Chris's shoulder before he moved back to the centre of the room, at a loss to do anything except stand and wait.

Fuck knows where Parker had got to.

"Guv," Viv poked his head around the door of CID, "phone for you."

He made his way to the front desk, nodding his thanks to the skipper as he took the receiver from his hand. "Hunt."

The caller spoke so fast and frenzied that he could barely make out what they were saying, but he recognised the voice instantly. 'Turbo' Tommy Fletcher, one of his most reliable snouts that had been on side ever since they nabbed him for petty theft the first week of arriving in this godforsaken place.

"Alright, keep yer 'air on," Gene muttered into the receiver, "and lower your bloody voice. Almost everyone can 'ear you through the phone. Now, go through that again because I didn't catch more than two words."

Turbo did as instructed, repeating himself slower though Gene could detect the energy that ticked in his tone.

"I knew it was 'is face. Hung about for an afternoon, followed 'im to this big warehouse. Kipped outside so I could see the comin' and goin'. Got a kick in the mornin' and I'd know that boot in me jacksy anywhere."

"You got any solid evidence?" he questioned.

"No," Turbo replied, and Gene's heart sank, "but I can 'ang around. I've got nothin' better to do. It's 'im, though. I'd bet me life on it. And bombs? It all adds up."

Gene pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, I'm not a bloody mind-reader. I need the bloke's name if I'm gunna do anythin' about it."

Turbo's deep breath echoed down the line into his ear. "Layton. Arthur Layton."

Silence reigned as Gene processed the information, lights starting to glow in his mind. Parker and that scrap of paper. Speeding on a boat up the Thames with a machine gun in his hand. Standing in a prison interview room.

He'd been let out since then, he remembered.

"Alright, Boss?" Turbo's voice cut through the cavalcade. "Can I get the two hundred now? I'm desperate."

Gene nodded to himself. "Good job. Meet me at the Crown and Anchor, seven. And Turbo? There'll be more than two hundred in it for yer if you can keep an eye on 'im."

* * *

The room was fairly standard, blank walls in muted tones but at least twice the size of hers. Having been escorted especially, Alex sat now in the chair that faced the therapist, pulling the sleeves of her robe past her hands in a nervous gesture.

She started to doubt herself now that she was here. If the roles were reversed and she was treating a patient she would vocally encourage the use of talking therapy, especially for someone suffering amnesia. The woman, roughly in her early forties, smiled gently at her, let the silence around them soften. It was meant to be comforting, Alex was sure, but instead the non-verbal communication – the stares and smiles – unnerved her.

 _Perhaps she already knows. The fact that I'm going mad, or at least I must be, to be even thinking like this._

She wanted nothing more to dart from the room in that moment, run all the way back to safety if her legs could carry her that far. But when she got back, what would she do? Sit in a different chair or lie in her bed, attempting to analyse herself in what was an impossible task, down to the fact that nothing made logical sense?

"Alex," the therapist finally spoke, her name sounding strange as she heard it aimed at her. "I believe that you're familiar with this."

She smiled weakly, nodding her head.

If only she could figure things out on her own. She'd clearly forgotten most of her life's learning, along with her whole sense of self.

"I want you to know that you are taking a very significant step forward by asking to see me. And also that there are absolutely no obligations. There is no rush for you to think or feel anything."

 _That's easy for you to say_.

"Thank you," Alex responded.

The therapist had her hands in her lap, another easy smile on her face. "Where would you like to start?"

"May I...?" Alex gestured to the glass of the water on the table that lay between them.

"Please."

She limited herself to taking small sips rather than gulping down. It didn't really make sense but she did always feel better for drinking water, it was almost like breathing. Or at least remembering to.

"I understand that emerging from a coma...I understand that one might have difficulty adjusting to the real world."

She could hear herself talking as if she were the therapist, divorcing herself from what she was feeling. Referring to herself as an outsider. This was defeating the whole point.

"A sense of dislocation is natural," the therapist replied, "in your situation, even more so. Do you feel like the world around you is _not_ real?"

"I...I don't know," she answered honestly.

She didn't have much to back up her theory, yet at the same time there was nothing to dismiss it. All she had seen since waking were the same four walls. It was something of a miracle that Mr Gerrard had even allowed her out of her room to come here, somewhere in the same building.

"I've been dreaming," she continued, getting closer to the crux of the matter, "vividly so. When I wake it feels like I've been...ripped away. Taken somewhere else."

"Here?"

She nodded.

"Do these dreams feel more like the real world?"

"I think so," Alex said, a little hesitantly. "I feel...more real in them. More like myself."

"Can you tell me more about one of these dreams?"

She frowned, looking down at her hands which were now uncovered, resting in her lap. Mirroring that of the woman that sat opposite. "There are so many, I don't know if I can single one out. They mix together."

The jumble of images crowded her mind, each with separate and distinct details that called out to her.

"Just tell me anything you can."

"I'm with Gene...my husband." Her attention was caught by the ring on her left hand, the faint age spots that blemished her skin. It still felt so strange to see the marks of time and comprehend them as real. "And we're working together...I dreamt of our wedding day, how hot it was. The ridiculous fact that I wore a fur coat for part of the day. I'm sorry..."

She broke off as the tears surged to her throat, bringing her sleeve to her eye.

"Take your time," the therapist said soothingly, offering out the box of tissues. "There's no need to rush at all."

Alex dabbed at her face with the tissue she had taken, gathering herself.

"But I also dream about a girl, about eight or nine, in the very early '80s."

She could see the girl in her mind's eye now, wearing a school uniform and holding onto a red balloon.

"And do you know this girl?"

Alex nodded once more, her eyes glazing. "I don't just know her...I _am_ her. I've lived her life."

 _I am her_. She thought that more and more, even with the dreams of herself with Gene. As yet she had not dreamt of Molly once.

"Can you tell me more about her?" the therapist pressed a little more, somewhat contrary to her previous assertions.

"She's an only child, she doesn't have a sister. Or didn't...her mother and father died, at the same time. There was a bomb in their car and it killed them both." This was the detail that felt real to her, the things that she could identify with. "Her godfather became her parent. And her name is Alex. Alex Price."

The woman wore a tight-lipped smile. "You are Alex. You have a daughter who is an only child. Her mother and father had their car blown up by a bomb."

Her mind had been cleaved in two. One half of it agreeing with all that was being said, the facts as they were stated. The other half dismissing them completely as untrue, a mere fabrication. Designed to...do what? Mess with her already fragile state of being? Try to convince her that her life had been different all along?

"You are Alex Hunt," the therapist said, staring straight towards her. "You were Alex Drake."

She could feel herself hesitating, wanting to argue otherwise. _But Drake was Pete's name. I was Alex Price._

 _I still am._

"Your brain is working overtime, piecing fragments together. It's normal to get some of the details confused. Really, I would be surprised if you didn't." She smiled more naturally again. "You have been through a tremendous, life-altering event. You are doing incredibly well to be where you are now."

Alex remained silent, mulling the words over. Doubting herself again, whoever she happened to be.

"The mind's an amazing organ. It's capable of far more than you'd imagine."

A memory charged towards her.

" _I've got an amazin' organ."_

The therapist tipped her head as Alex stuttered out a laugh.

"Sorry," she explained, "I was just remembering something Gene said once."

"There's the proof that yours is working very well," the therapist replied, smiling reassuringly. "Time is the key, Alex. You want to rush ahead, remember everything at once. But things will come back to you gradually. My door is open if you want to talk again, but I think that you're more than capable of solving this by yourself."

She felt disconsolation on leaving the room, being taken out in the wheelchair. On one level she was able to understand what she had been told. She could recognise the advice as something she would dispose to others. Yet she didn't just want the answers. She _needed_ them to know who she was, and how she could resolve the hopeless situation she was currently in.

The corridor seemed unending, various signs pointing to different wards and departments. She was wheeled along, partly against her own free will. The sign denoting the Intensive Care Unit was in the opposite direction to where she was being taken, and she wanted to shout out, turn the damn chair around herself and follow the path along there.

"It's alright, Ma'am," the familiar voice came from behind her, came from the person who was pushing her along, "you don't 'ave to worry, the Guv's fine. We're lookin' after 'im. You can trust us."

Her heart felt as though it had frozen in her chest.

 _Chris?_

She swivelled her head as they stopped to wait for the lift to arrive at their floor, her face in just as much confusion as that of the young porter who confronted her.

"You okay, Mrs?"

His voice had a similar Mancunian twang but otherwise he was nothing like Chris. _Of course he wasn't._

"Yes," she said with a shake in her voice, bringing one hand to her temple, "just tired, that's all."

The lift dinged, the red down arrow flashing on and off.

"Best get you back, then. It'll be two ticks."

 _Back_. The word reverberated in her mind.

 _To where, exactly?_

* * *

He was up with the lark again, having barely slept, the cogs of his brain working overtime. Turbo hadn't really given much but he'd promised to keep a look-out, and it was worth giving over the money to have the name. That name in particular.

Layton's face was in the back of his mind, wide eyes and sneering mouth. Daylight by the dockside replaced by the dankness of a prison cell but the same wild look remained. He'd dismissed him at first, thinking him nothing more than another druggie with ideas above his station.

Thoughts occupied, he went into the station like second nature, not particularly looking where he was going; he didn't need to. It was only when a figure moved out of the shadows that he took notice.

"Christ!" he exclaimed, registering Keats' face, the glow from the single desk-lamp that was switched on glinting on the glass of his spectacles.

"Sorry, DCI Hunt. Didn't mean to startle you. Though I didn't have you down as an early bird." He moved his mouth into one of those weird not-quite-smiles of his. "Or maybe you're just as eager for our appointment as I am."

"Oh yeah," Gene retorted, "like bloody Christmas Eve. Couldn't sleep for the excitement."

Keats nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "No time like the present, I'd say. Unless you've got business to attend to?"

Gene shrugged. _Better to get it over and done with_. "Nothin' that can't wait."

"Splendid. I've left my notes in my office, so if you wouldn't mind?"

Gene grunted his agreement, following Keats' precise footsteps as he led the way down a series of steps to a little room in the basement. He hadn't even been aware that anything existed down here, aside from maybe a few rats scurrying around.

"Hellfire, it's like the bleedin' Sahara in 'ere," Gene muttered, overwhelmed with the heat in the small office. " 'ow d'you cope?"

"I've always felt the cold terribly. I think I might have a condition, what is it...Raynaud's disease."

Gene shuffled on his feet, loosening his tie and not really paying attention to whatever it was he was going on about.

"I can turn it down if you'd rather?"

"Nah, I'll get used to it." He didn't plan on sticking around for too long anyway.

He took the seat at the other side of Keats' desk, watching as the other man flicked through the notepad in front of him, studying certain pages for a while before leaning back in his chair, apparently deep in thought.

 _He could 'ave at least done all this pissin' about before draggin' me in 'ere._

"Well, it's certainly been an interesting few days," Keats piped up eventually, looking up from his notes. "I feel like I know Fenchurch East and its officers inside out. Lots and lots of important information."

Which he was going to tell Gene precisely zilch about.

"I will say one thing that has been a common thread."

Gene's ears pricked up, not expecting the other DCI to reveal anything.

"Your officers are a loyal bunch. Unfailingly so." The pages of the pad made a riffling sound as Keats skimmed his thumb over them. "I pressed and pressed but they didn't crack. You've trained them well, shepherd."

"Not _all_ of them," Gene pointed out, "one went to you in the first place."

"Ah, Detective Inspector Parker. The new boy in town. I think you've underestimated him somewhat."

He frowned as Keats' lips quirked upwards.

"I admit, I did think he was going to be the key. But as it turns out, he didn't have a bad word to say about you. Said that it was his fault and he had jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"What?" Gene was taken aback at what he was hearing. _If this is some kind of game..._

He leaned over the desk to sneak a look at the open pad, but Keats swiftly closed it, covering it with his hand.

"He seems to want to do good by you, make himself worthy enough for a gold star. You seem to have an effect on them all, _Gene._ "

He bristled at that, not liking how this virtual stranger saw fit to call him by anything other than his full title.

"I was a little bit lost in seeing it but having you here, up close," his spectacled face came nearer over the desk, leaning further even as Gene pushed back into his own seat, "well, I think I'm starting to fall under the spell as well."

"Whatever's goin' through your 'ead, not that I particularly want to know, I'm not that way inclined," he made it crystal clear, arms folding defensively against his chest, "I don't care about it 'ere _that_ much."

If it was Manchester, then maybe. It'd have to be a hand-job though. Nothing more involved.

A strange sound filled the room. Keats was laughing, though Gene had never heard laughter like it.

"Don't worry. You're not my type, either."

He stopped his hysterics, shifting in his seat and returning to his infuriating pondering.

"You see, this puts me in a difficult position," he said, standing up. "I have a job to do, just like you. The claims have been stacking up for years. Intimidation, brutality. There are big hulking blokes in prison who are reduced to gibbering wrecks at the mere mention of your name. Accomplices who've been left permanently injured thanks to what you've done to them in custody, not because of any retribution that has come from the lynchpins they work for."

"Their word against mine," Gene replied, keeping his poker face in place, "not much you can do without evidence."

"Very true," Keats agreed, pacing the floor behind where Gene sat. "But it's funny, isn't it? People have a tendency to dig their own graves."

Breath lingered next to his ear, the sensation uncomfortable enough to make him squirm in his seat.

"Wherever there's one snout of yours, another one isn't far behind. I know you've been looking into the Brokeborough's case."

Gene put a hand to his face, sighing. _Stupid bastard._ Though he should have been better at covering his tracks, he didn't feel any regret.

"I just expected more of a challenge from you," Keats mused, leaving words hanging suspended in the air. "You're quick enough to teach your flock, but you don't learn anything from them in comparison. And they've got so much to offer. DI Parker. DI Tyler."

Gene closed his eyes, his face still shielded from Keats' scrutiny. Hearing the two names in such close proximity felt unnatural. _As if Dozy could ever hold a candle to Sam_. The relationship would never compare. Anyway he had learned from Tyler. _Too bloody much, and stuff that doesn't do me any good._

"And of course, I'm missing out the most obvious," Keats went on, his voice shifting lower, "even though it all got a bit unprofessional in the end. Perils of having a female DI, eh? Or perhaps I should term them _benefits_ , instead. Oh, it might have been so different if DI Alex Drake was a bloke. Unless you would have _turned_. We can never know what would have happened."

He'd stopped listening after her name had been mentioned, a sickening shiver running through him to hear it come from that tosser's lips.

"What do you know?" Gene said, almost under his breath.

Keats went on, spouting some nonsense he couldn't make head nor tail of. Quick as a flash Gene jumped up, swivelled round and slammed the other DCI against the wall.

"Tell me what you know!" he demanded, heart hammering in his chest at the mention of Bolly.

"Temper, temper," Keats managed to say, half-laughing as he wrested free from Gene's grasp, adjusting his collar. "This is precisely what lands you in trouble."

Gene stepped back, the palms of his hands surging with heat where they'd been upon Keats. The world was out of focus, tipped upside down, as was always the case whenever someone other than himself acknowledged Bolly's existence.

"You should see the look on your face," Keats taunted, "if I'd have known this was what it was going to take I should have let you in on it all along."

He felt defenceless, powerless to fight back as the other man turned round him in circles.

"I'm not even sure how it's supposed to work. That whole 'being from the future' business. But then I've never been all that scientific. I get the feeling you're not into it either."

"Yeah, well I'm not after a lesson," Gene recovered the power of speech, getting mightily pissed off with Keats' tendency to string things out. "I just want to know why the bloody hell she vanished into thin air. If you know somethin' and you don't spit it out, I swear that I won't be responsible for my actions."

He clenched his fists in preparation.

"Alright, alright," Keats held his hands up, "but I don't know if you're going to want to hear it. Maybe it's better if you sit down."

"I'm fine and dandy where I am, thanks."

"Fair enough. I assume she told you that she was shot? Awful business. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Never really had luck on her side," he paused to smile, "until she met you, that is. And that could never work, could it? Seeing as you're from here and she's from there...this is making my head start to hurt, I don't know how you made sense of it...and of course, there's the fact that she's got a daughter as well. That just makes it completely impossible."

The ache in his heart would never go away. The love of his life, and it was never meant to work out. It didn't mean that the feelings he had for her were any less, though he'd spend the rest of his existence trying to explain it to himself.

"Anyway, she was shot and went into a coma. The doctors worked tirelessly, thinking of little Molly missing her mum, and Alex herself fought and fought. You know better than most that she's a tough cookie. Never taking no for an answer. She wasn't going to give up, always determined to get back to Molly. And then, what do you know? She only went and did it. She woke up."

Relief flooded through his veins. Even if he'd spend his life being miserable it was a consolation for Bolly to be able to live hers.

"All those smiling faces. Such a happy ending. Like a fairytale, really."

The pregnant pause gave him cause for concern. He could never really tell with Keats, whether there was something more or whether it was all for dramatic effect.

"But then, fairytales aren't real," Keats exhaled with a sigh. Gene felt his heart plummet. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down? Some scotch?"

He shook his head, knowing what was coming before the other man had to say it.

"Things can happen without anyone being aware. Consequences; there are no reasons. There was a clot in her brain from the shot. Nobody had discovered it because they were so focused on curing the infection she'd got. Two days after she came round it bled out, and she died."

"No," the word left him instantaneously as he sank to his knees.

 _It can't be true. Bolly. No..._

"Awful, just awful. Thirty five, no age at all. At least she got to see Molly again before she went, the one saving grace."

Silence roared against his ears, everything turning to ashes. He couldn't come to terms with it; it would take him years to even begin. How was it fair that could happen, giving someone who deserved it – who deserved the whole world – a second chance and then snatching it away, calling it a mistake? It just confirmed what he had thought all along; that life was a pile of shit, at least for those who fought the hardest battles.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, dragged his head from where it lolled. Keats was crouching on the floor in front of him, eyes smiling at him as he was there, defeated.

"I know you're grieving. I didn't want for you to find out like this." His sudden caring nature was completely at odds with minutes before, when he'd been goading him to rage. "And of course it makes me feel worse, because I don't want to be the one to take the last thing you've got away from you. My job is to discipline, not break people completely."

All Gene could do was stare at the other man, feeling drained of any energy he had left.

"I shouldn't even be thinking about doing this," Keats chewed at his lip, "my boss is going to have my balls on a silver platter if he finds out. But I can keep things quiet if you can. Think of it as a first warning."

His smile grew wider as he took his hand from Gene's shoulder and instead extended it towards him. The shock held him frozen as well as the natural suspicion he still felt towards Keats. Before he'd been an annoying jobsworth; now he'd always think of him as the one who told him that Bolly was dead.

"One condition, though," he continued, keeping his hand in the space between them. "I've always been a proponent of the grass being greener on the other side. Of course, the team is great as it is, but it never hurts to have a bit of extra help, does it? One case. Give me a chance to see how the Gene-Genie operates where he's best. I'm sure I can learn a thing or two."

He didn't see a way out, even if he really wanted to tell him in no unclear terms to _piss off_.

"And if anyone has a chance at changing things, well...I don't see any other man for the job."

It seemed to happen in slow-motion, at least for Gene. No sooner had he reached his hand tentatively, still on the edge of making a decision, than Keats grasped it tightly. Smiling, or not quite.

"We have a deal, then."

* * *

 **A/N: The things the broken heart will do...**


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19_

 _Alex groaned with each step she took, manoeuvring her way back from the bathroom. One hand swiped at her forehead, momentarily wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered there, while the other rested upon her preposterously distended stomach._

 _It took her a ridiculous amount of time to clamber back into the bed and she swore, not especially to herself, as she grappled with the almost impossible mechanics of what her body had become. Lying down rather than getting comfortable was the goal; there was little point in striving for that when she'd only have to shift again in the space of thirty seconds or less._

 _The sheets that covered her were an added inconvenience, a significant one at that. If it wasn't for the man who was stretched out to the left of her, insistent on tugging the blasted things over the both of them, she would have no hesitation in bundling them up and throwing them to the corner of the room._

 _The sound of his snoring put the top hat on the whole scenario._

" _This is all your bloody fault, Hunt," she muttered, the frustration that clawed at her more with each passing second causing hot tears to gather in her eyes. The baby insisted that she move, so she splayed her hand against her stomach, steadying herself as she went from her back onto her hip. Her fist digging against his forearm wasn't entirely accidental. "I've a mind to take out a restraining order so you can never get close enough to let this happen again."_

 _He grunted against the pillow some moments later, Alex musing silently on how unfair it was that he could sleep through the end of the bloody world. She watched his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek and a pout forming on his lips, and hated the wave of intense desire that washed over her. If only someone had informed her in specific detail how moody and simultaneously horny being seven months pregnant would cause her to be she'd have made plans to hibernate._

" _Alex...what's up, love?" he groaned in a gravelly voice as he came to, moving against the mattress._

" _I'll tell you what's up. I'm sweating so bloody much that it'd make zero difference if I was lying in a furnace right now. And...ow, Jesus Christ!"_

 _To his credit he bolted upright as she exclaimed, his hand shooting out to take hold of her arm._

" _Alex," he repeated, concern evident in his tone and his eyes fixed upon her._

 _She shook her head as a reply to the question before he could pose it, her lips pursing before they curved into a small and fairly delighted smile, masking her previous discontent._

" _Your child thinks that my internal organs are kick toys."_

 _In the dim light of the room she could see that his eyes were twinkling._

" _Just mine, then?"_

" _They are when they're keeping me awake at all hours of the day and night."_

 _He grinned, his fingers stroking against the inside of her elbow. "Like father..."_

" _Stop right there," she murmured, her gaze held by the curve of his mouth, "I'm not in the mood."_

 _That was true at least for the present minute, her emotions flipping back and forth and back again at a rate of knots._

 _He bent his head to plant a kiss in the crook of her neck, and she couldn't stop her breath from catching in her throat. She was still pleasantly surprised at how tender he could be with her, the softer side that she always suspected was hiding beneath his armour confident enough to emerge when it was just the two of them, in their own home. He shifted back down and she watched him intently as he settled beside her once more, pushing the sheets down past their waists._

" _Still can't believe this is happenin'," he said, moving one of his hands to her sizeable bump, "feels like I'm in the middle of some mad dream and I dunno if I'm ever gunna wake up."_

" _Give it a couple more months, when there's a wailing baby in your arms." The image was one that made her smile, for the right reasons. "I'm willing to bet that it'll feel very real then."_

 _His eyes smiled at her, his hand rubbing soothingly over her swollen stomach. She could feel the fluttering movements within her, their child reacting eagerly to Gene's touch. She would have been thoroughly pissed off at what he was causing if her heart wasn't bouncing with joy. If he thought that this would never happen in a thousand years for him, then she had been even more doubtful._

 _It just went to show that you couldn't predict the future, no matter how convinced you thought you were._

" _Are you scared?" she asked him quietly, hopeful that he would share the fears that she still held, even though she was far along enough now for everything to be fine – at least she hoped._

" _Scared?" he echoed her, his gaze dropping to just above her chest, heaving steadily with her breathing. "Try bleedin' petrified. But I can't wait, either. It'll be the start of somethin' good, Bols."_

" _Mmm," she replied, absent-mindedly bringing her hand to the nape of his neck, feeling the need to be touching him too._

 _She wasn't sure what was going to happen once July had come and gone. There was a lot they hadn't discussed yet, including the matter of her returning to work. She didn't see herself staying at home for longer than a year at most, but then working around Gene might prove to be problematic; since they had discovered that she was pregnant he hadn't let her go more than a metre out of his sight. She almost didn't want to think about how overprotective he was going to become. Yet at the same time it would be strange to consider working in another department or a new force entirely. They were Bolly and the Guv; there couldn't be one without the other._

 _So much to think about, but now wasn't the time to dwell upon it._

" _Oh, for God's sake," she huffed, turning onto her opposite side. If she got much bigger in the next two months then he'd have no choice but to move downstairs onto the sofa._

" _Is there anythin' I can do, love?"_

 _She shook her head upon the pillow, craning her neck to at least catch a glimpse of him. "Not unless you can make time go faster."_

" _Not quite in me power, I'm afraid," he murmured against her neck, moulding his body to her back and draping a leg across hers. "Try and get some shut-eye. I'll be right 'ere if you or Junior need anythin'."_

" _I know," she smiled, letting her eyes drift closed in an optimistic gesture. "Thank you."_

 _She wasn't sure whether it was Gene's presence being so close – literally pressed against her – but it seemed to have a calming effect on the baby, which allowed her to feel similarly at ease. The feeling was one that she was not going to take for granted._

" _Love yer, Alex," he said into her ear as she was on the edge of sleep, his hand landing back upon her stomach, "the both of yer."_

* * *

The team was back in business and that was all he cared about. Granted, it took them a bit of time to come round to having Keats on board. He wasn't exactly a natural fit, not with his nit-picking and steadfast adherence to every rule in the book to its last letter. They had to watch their backs around him, never quite sure if he was going to grass them up for the slightest digression. He was quiet as a mouse, though; hanging to the back and letting them get on with things. Suspiciously uninvolved, or maybe it was that he wanted to keep his hands clean. A watcher rather than a doer.

Gene felt Keats watching him, those beady eyes burning holes in his back, never letting him off the hook even when they were off-duty. He frequently wondered whether there was more on Jimbo's mind than just being involved in a case and being one of the gang. The last few months had taught him a painful lesson, badges and warrant cards far from guaranteeing solidarity. And Keats was from the other side of it all, not one of his kind. He didn't know how far he could trust him, if he really could at all. At least he had made it clear that he was going to be the only DCI in the division and to his surprise the other man hadn't argued, content to take a temporary demotion in the time he would be spending amongst CID.

But the fact of it all was that he didn't give a rat's todger about Keats and his motives. He was back doing what he was meant to, making tracks on the nutter who had a fixation with blowing things to smithereens.

He was going to make a difference and nothing – from the inside or out – was going to get in his way.

"The boys at Fenchurch West 'ave done a decent enough job of keepin' the seat warm on this case, but it's time for the men to take over again," he stood tall, filled with a renewed sense of drive and purpose as he addressed the room. "Well, Shaz an' all."

"Thanks, Guv," Shaz chirruped from her spot to the side of Chris's desk.

"DCI Norris will be bringin' over the suspect they've already nabbed any time now, and myself, DI Parker and DI Keats will be havin' a few words with the scumbag. Doesn't mean we can rest on our laurels, though. Ray, Chris, Poirot and Terry, I want you out scoping the streets. There's a number of sites that have been identified as other potential targets for bombings and I'm countin' on you to see what's what."

"Will do, Guv," Ray uttered, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

"The rest of you, there's a stack of files to get yer heads into. Intelligence, prospective leads if this one falls flat on its arse. I want no stone to be left unturned on nailing this. We've wasted enough time as it is."

He stopped himself from looking pointedly at Keats, who had taken up residence at the back of the room.

"We can get this bastard, and wrap everythin' up so that there's still time for a three-course slap-up meal at Luigi's. Do you copy?"

"Yes, Guv!" the majority of CID chorused as one, with a notable exception.

He nodded at the reply he had hoped for. "Let's get on with it then."

The various members of the team dispersed to what they had been assigned to, leaving him temporarily at a loss. As she often did when he felt this way, Bolly came charging from the back of his mind. He hadn't decided whether her presence at these times was a comfort or hindrance.

 _You're doing brilliantly, Gene._

Before he could answer her voice in his head and make himself seem like a prize wally Chris bounded up to him, a smile that was too wide upon his face.

"Don't worry, Guv. Between us we'll get the job done."

"Do I look worried to you, Christopher?"

"Er, no," the DS stumbled over his words, "just a figure of speech, innit?"

Gene nodded in response, pulling a hand out of his pocket to tap Skelton briefly on the shoulder. "You come across anythin' of significance then call me. Doesn't matter what else I'm doin'. Even if I've been in the bog for 'alf an 'our."

This case was more important than anything.

 _Almost more important._

"Gotcha, Guv."

He had just enough time to down a couple of measures of scotch in the privacy of his office before Parker knocked on the door. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, letting out a huff of discontent. It wasn't Parker's fault he felt like shit. It wasn't anyone's fault except his own. He took another glug, pinching the bridge of his nose before he bid the DI to enter.

"Norris is at front desk, Guv. He's deposited the suspect in Room 1."

"Good. You get Keats's head out of 'is notebook and I'll go for a slash. I'll meet you both in there."

He kept his cool until he got to the gents, barricading his way into a cubicle and sitting down on the closed seat, rubbing his hands over his face. Bolly had deserted him and instead he had to listen to his own voice telling him that he was being a right pansy, alongside the voice of Keats mocking him, telling him that he was less the shepherd than a sheep.

 _Well, I'll show you, matey._

Building himself back up he exited, meeting Parker and the cause of some of his mental torment outside the interview room.

"Ready, then?"

"As we'll ever be, Guv," Parker responded, while Keats gave a simple nod of the head.

They stepped to their respective sides to allow Gene to enter first.

"Right, what kind of scum do we 'ave 'ere..."

He was pulled up short when his eyes met those of a familiar face. _Evan White._

"DCI Hunt," White stood up, "I thought we might meet again under better circumstances."

"I'll say." He took his gaze away from the lawyer, shaking off the paralysis that had temporarily affected him. The second face just as familiar, once he got past the shorn hair. "'ello again, Arthur."

* * *

It was so good to feel the natural warmth of the sun on her face, beyond that to breathe in air that was fresh. She found herself luxuriating in the simple pleasures, not thinking about how absurd it might be to get such inordinate joy from them. There had been an unbroken spell of actual summer weather, Molly had informed her, and her ever-determined daughter had made it her mission to take them on an expedition; at least as far as the garden just outside the hospital doors that had been set up for patients and cultivated by those who were further along in their recovery.

It was another fine day, identical to those that had preceded it, and so Molly had wheeled her from the ward and many various corridors outside, being conscious not to waste too much of visiting time on the journey. Alex focused hard on the pleasant breeze in her hair and the scents of the flowers that surrounded them, instead of her embarrassment at being not much better than an invalid.

She felt that it was wrong of her to complain, albeit it silently; this was a vast improvement on all of the previous days she had spent, being confined and closely monitored, without actually being told anything about how her condition was progressing. Yet she couldn't keep her heart quiet. She wanted to be home, wherever that was nowadays. Sitting in her own garden – she was quite sure that she had one, even if it wasn't as big as she would desire – feeling at peace. Just feeling... _right_.

 _At home_.

Whenever she pictured it in her mind it looked terribly outdated, all of the decor putting her vividly in the '80s and early '90s. Surely they would have redecorated since then; she would have insisted upon it. Then again, her husband was a creature of habit and incredibly stubborn to boot.

"Have I been a good mother?"

Her question broke the serene silence that was otherwise only punctuated by birdsong. It was a dark shadow cast upon her thoughts, a wound growing wider within her chest. It caused her incredible grief that there was so much about Molly's existence that had been wiped clean from her mind and memory, her role as a mother being played by someone else that she could barely remember, an impostor.

The dreams that she had been having in the past week had all centred around motherhood, and briefly it had been a great relief to know that she hadn't blocked out that part of herself completely. The feeling hadn't lasted long, more often than not causing her to wake in turmoil and racked with guilt. Every circumstance that her subconscious presented her with cast her in an unforgiving light. She was either heavily pregnant and in a foul mood about it, complaining about discomfort and not being able to do anything, or otherwise she was angry at Molly – who never seemed to be more than eight or nine years old – shouting at the top of her voice and telling her how naughty she was, not stopping even while Molly was crying.

In every dream she was utterly horrible, and after each one she hated herself. She couldn't have possibly been so cruel, could she? The trouble was that she could not trust her own mind to tell her the truth. The logical part of her brain told her that she was amplifying her deepest fears, the kind that were for the most part irrational. Without Gene to tell her otherwise, she had no proof.

Molly took hold of her hand, aside from the thumb, and squeezed it with her own fingers. "Mum," she said in a voice that was only very slightly shaking, and Alex fervently hoped that she was right in predicting that it was down to a rush of emotion and nothing more sinister, "you're the best. You always have been."

She felt somewhat placated, and intensely foolish at the same time, even if the doubts and taunting voices were still niggling at the back of her head.

 _What else is she going to say? She doesn't know any different._

She smiled at her daughter through her persisting fear. "I'm sorry, Molls. I don't...that is, I can't..."

Her words faltered and fizzled out upon her tongue, frustration welling up anew. She wouldn't put Molly through any further pain by detailing her dreams, and in the absence of knowing quite what to say she clasped her fingers tight around those of her daughter's.

"I can't really remember my parents. Even before this. I mean, I know I loved them, but if someone asked me about the things that they did, for me, I wouldn't be able to pick out anything in particular."

The agony of loss, a pain that never leaves you, only ever becomes dull with the passing of time to bloom up again in moments of correlation, becoming all the harder to bear.

"So I didn't have a lot to go on. I was always making it up as I went along."

 _You deserved more._

Molly's smile was tempered, but Alex could tell that it was on her behalf.

"Well, you did an amazing job. In all my life, I've never wanted for anything. That doesn't sound the way I want it to..."

She lowered her head for a moment or two, dropping her gaze into her lap. From this angle her resemblance to Gene was striking. Alex had never noticed the likeness so intensely, and she felt a pang in the centre of her chest.

"I'm not talking about material things," she clarified the meaning of her previous statement, looking Alex in the eyes once more, "I've always felt so much love, and felt so lucky. So many of my friends and people I know have had their parents split up, and obviously that doesn't mean that their love is any the less, but I could never imagine being in their position, not for one second."

She took a deep breath before she continued, Alex observing her daughter closely. "I suppose it sounds a bit silly, given that I'm nearly in my mid-twenties and all. But I'd never be ashamed to say it, because it's the truth. You and Dad are my entire world, and I don't think I could be luckier than to have the both of you as my Mum and Dad."

"Oh, Molls. You don't know what that means to me."

The events of two days ago were still fresh in her mind, Molly practically barrelling through the door of her room and rushing over to her bed to engulf her in a hug as soon as the early visiting hour began. Her heart had dared to hope, a little prematurely, but her hopes were confirmed when their daughter whispered into her ear. _He's awake. Dad's awake._

Mr Gerrard and the other specialists remained silent throughout the day. If it had not been for Molly she would have been none the wiser about Gene's condition. It was only when one nurse let word slip did she know anything officially. The anger she felt at being denied knowledge of her own husband did not overthrow her joy that he was conscious and fighting.

She was being classified as still too fragile to see him, which made very little sense to her. It almost seemed like they were hell-bent on delaying the recovery of them both. Molly had a plan, just as she had to get her mother out from the confines of the four walls. Alex was already sick with nerves at the thought of seeing him again, not at the thought of being caught and sanctioned.

She was also counting down the minutes, never mind the hours.

Holding onto Molly's hand, she closed her eyes and stretched her face skyward, immeasurably thankful for the smallest as well as the most significant of blessings.

* * *

It was going on for an hour now; the five of them stuck in that room that felt ten times too small, and with each minute that passed Gene could have sworn that the walls were closing further in. Parker was putting his questions forth with a level of calm and composure that he had long since surrendered; it was entirely fair to say that he was a hair's breadth away from losing his rag completely, watching as that slimy, smug little bastard sat there and gave them sod all.

"This is the abandoned warehouse just off Berry Street. Frequented by a number of criminals that come and go as they please, and believe that they're undercover. We've heard that you paid a visit there just recently." Parker paused as he allowed Layton to take the photograph he held. "Does it look familiar?"

Gene watched as Layton's mouth twitched slightly, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. The scumbag looked at the photograph from every possible angle, gave it a good deal of consideration. The eventual answer he gave hardly came as any great surprise; Gene could have said the same two words himself and saved them all a couple of minutes wasted time.

"No comment."

That was the straw that broke the lion's patience.

He left no time for the DI to grab him by the tail of his jacket, hauling him back over the other side of the table.

"If you say that one more time I'm gunna stick one of my size nines squarely up your arse, then I'll bet you'll 'ave some comment to make!"

Layton made no response except to smirk slyly, which only sought to further rile Gene.

"My client is perfectly within his rights to make no comment upon these claims, which I have to say are flimsy at best."

Now Parker was pulling him back with a tentative hand, and he was too concerned with looking at Evan White to do anything to resist. He had some nerve, trying to make excuses for that pathetic piece of crap. Wasn't he supposed to be on the side of the good guys, especially with everything that had happened?

The lawyer remained unflappable, oblivious to Gene's ire. "As far as I can tell all of the 'evidence' that is meant to condemn my client is based upon conjecture and allegation, from less than reliable sources." He seemed to make a point of looking at Gene in particular on mentioning said sources. "Until you can present something of more substance then I would suggest that my client is granted the freedom which he is well-entitled to. We all have places we'd rather be right now dealing with matters of much more importance, I'm sure."

 _Christ, I'd like nothin' more to smack the look straight off his self-assured face._

"We take your point," Parker answered before Gene could interject with a more choice remark, nodding sagely at White before turning attention back to Layton. "There is nothing to imply that you planted the bomb at Brokeborough's. Nothing even to say that you built it. But the system is so complex that there must have been some intervention from you, even if it was in the very initial stages. Someone in your position has access to a lot of specialist knowledge. Valuable information."

"God give me strength," Gene muttered, "don't try and bloody butter 'im up."

"If you co-operate with us now, tell us who was responsible, then things will be much better for you further down the line."

Parker's words were achingly familiar; if he closed his eyes and listened to the voice that so often resounded in his head, then Bolly herself could have been in the room instead.

Layton shrugged his shoulders, leant back in his seat.

"This isn't getting anywhere fast," White piped up, "I need to be at the train station by six o'clock. May I suggest we return to this tomorrow, if there is anything else to go over?"

Gene felt Parker's eyes upon him, drained of their hope for the day. As much as he loathed being dictated to – and especially by someone who wasn't even in the force – he reluctantly agreed. Perhaps Ray, Chris or one of the team would unearth something by the time tomorrow came.

He couldn't leave Layton without a parting shot, however.

"You might think you're bein' smart, playin' these little games. But I know you had somethin' to do with this." And if they let him go then he'd bet good money that there would be more to follow. He could see the explosions and flames in his mind's eye, smoke everywhere. Screaming. "So you can sleep on it tonight, if your grubby little conscience doesn't keep you up. But then you'd better start talkin', else you'll be in for some extra-special treatment, courtesy of yours truly."

Layton remained sitting and smirking, at least until Evan got to his feet.

"DI Parker, if you could escort Mr Layton back to his cell." He was able to look the slug straight in the eyes for a few seconds longer before Parker took his orders, blood bubbling in his veins.

He waited until he was alone, needing the isolation to regain his composure in the absence of having any booze on him. His instincts had very rarely been wrong and he was convinced that he was right. Layton had told him as much with the way he had reacted. He knew they needed more on him to seal the deal and while he wasn't one for praying at this point in time he was that desperate that he wasn't past sending a few words skywards, if it would help them in nailing the cock-sure bastard.

Five minutes did the trick in bringing his blood pressure to a more acceptable level, exiting the claustrophobic interview room. At the end of the corridor he noticed that White was still hanging about, pouring vending machine coffee into a plastic cup. It was all the restraint he could show not to charge up and throw the stuff all over his posh suit.

"Thought you were in a rush. Wouldn't want you to slum it with us coppers much longer."

White shook his head, not quite meeting Gene's gaze. "It was getting rather uncomfortable in there. I needed to say something. Not to mention that we were somewhat outnumbered."

"I've 'eard it all now. Didn't know you had to become best mates with the no-marks as well." He stepped in closer, boxing the laywer in. If he didn't at least have the decency to look him in the eye like a man then he didn't deserve the basics in return. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Associatin' with Layton and his kind, makin' them feel like they 'ave the bloody right to do whatever the hell they like. You know, that makes you just as guilty as them in my book."

He'd given him warning, told him that he should be doing better. This bloke was Bolly's guardian, the biggest role model she had in her life at a tender age. He supposed that she hadn't turned out bad, so it could have been worse, but it didn't mean that he had to like what White was doing or think that it wasn't plain stupidity. The types he was knocking about with, even if it was on a professional basis – he was just surprised that Bolly hadn't been put in danger sooner.

Now he was looking, even staring back at him, and Gene could see defiance there which he would have had respect for if it had been in any other circumstance.

"I'm not sure that you, of all people, should be lecturing me on how to behave. It's not easy, you know. Do you have any idea what a year's worth of private school fees cost?"

"Funnily enough, no."

A small smile crept onto the lawyer's face. "I'm afraid that ethics have moved down on my list of priorities somewhat, compared to keeping a roof over Alex's head, food on the table and clothes on her back. As long as I'm getting paid well then I don't care if I'm representing Hitler. Of course I don't expect you to understand."

He didn't catch the dig until later on, lying in the dark, alone. _You'll never be a father._ "At least we're even there."

"I'm not your enemy, Hunt," he went on to say, "I'm fighting for the same things as you are. The trouble is that you see everything in black and white and you won't budge. There's so much space between, so many nuances. Once you realise that then things will start to make more sense."

He was left with little choice but to step away and let White scurry off. Making his way back to CID, and his office in particular, all he could think was that he was nothing like that jumped-up, brown-nosing yuppie.

The much needed peace and quiet he was yearning for was out of his reach for a little while longer, as who else but Jim bloody Keats was waiting for him outside his door.

"DCI Hunt," he said in that simpering voice of his, "may I have a word?"

"If you must," he answered, opening the door to let them both in, "though I'd 'ave preferred it if you would 'ave had a few in the interview room instead."

Thankfully Keats didn't prevent him from getting to the scotch. He poured a measure into another glass but when the other man shook his head to refuse then he knocked it back for himself instead.

"Far be it from me, a humble observer, to tell you how to go about your investigations..."

"Then why do I get the feelin' you're goin' to do precisely that?"

Keats smiled, holding both hands in the air. "You see right through me."

"Well, spit it out, then." He leant back against the end of his desk, unconvinced that Keats had any pearls of wisdom to offer, not after his performance in the interrogation. Gene didn't know why he had bothered getting out of bed and turning up at all.

"I've noticed that you have the tendency to play the bad cop. And if Arthur Layton is anything to go by, I'm not entirely sure that it's the way to go. Not everyone has the instinct to fight back when they're challenged. Specifically not those who know that they're in the wrong."

Gene mulled this bit of information over. "So you're saying I should be a soft touch, and then he'll confess everythin'."

"Not necessarily," Keats replied. "Layton's a tricky one, though not past being broken. Nobody is."

 _Oh, I've got a few ways to break 'im, alright._

"A new piece of evidence won't hurt, of course, but I think that perhaps a more...considered approach might be worth it, in the long run."

"I think I'm bein' very bloody considerate. Should have thrown 'im out on his arse instead of puttin' 'im back in a nice warm cell." He noticed Keats raising his eyebrows. "Alright, I see what you're sayin'. I 'ave to warn you though, Jimbo, my patience is not famed for being the strongest."

"Oh, I think you do yourself an injustice. You've lasted, what?" He pushed back the sleeve of his suit jacket to take a look at his watch. "Ten days with having me on the team. I'd say you have the makings of a saint."

Despite himself, Gene chuckled. "I'm watchin' you, though. Same as everyone else."

"And I wouldn't expect anything less. I'll leave you to it." He smiled, backing away on his heels. "Unless...you wouldn't mind if I have something, after all? Just to calm my nerves."

Gene relinquished the bottle of scotch from his iron grasp, offering it out.

"Be my guest."

* * *

She walked down the corridor with steps that were surprisingly steady, even relatively swift. Such a transformation in no time at all. It was the prospect of seeing Gene again; she could think of no other reason to explain her near-miraculous progress.

She didn't know what she would say first; so many words and phrases were crowding her head, jostling for prime position.

 _What on earth were you playing at?_

 _I could have lost you, all over again._

 _I've missed you._

Those three words beat against her ribcage, amplified louder with each step that brought her closer.

She wasn't sure where Molly had got to. She should really wait for her; it would only be right for it to be the three of them, reunited.

 _To think, I always thought it had to be one or the other._

But then she thought about what Molls would say, what she would want. She could hear her laughter somewhere, could feel her hands pushing her forward.

" _You and Dad should be together again."_

 _Just like the old days._

She hesitated when she finally reached the door, feelings overwhelming her. No time to be scared.

 _There's nothing to be scared of_.

Her hand splayed; she pushed it open, meeting no resistance.

Inside it was white, bright. So blindingly bright that her eyes weren't able to focus for longer than a minute. The air felt thin, too.

She could hear the bleeping of a machine, fainter sounds in the distance. Music of some sort, a tune that was familiar but which she couldn't quite make out.

The light in the room dimmed and her sight adjusted, her heart contracting and her pulse rising to her throat when she saw that the bed was empty.

 _Gene..._

He was nowhere.

If he's not here... _where is he?_

There was a door in the corner of the room and in her frantic need she hurried towards it, opening it to another room with another door, and another, and another. All of them the same, all of them lacking. Lacking the one person that she needed the most.

Finally she came to one that looked more familiar but which she didn't recognise as being her own room. There was a nurse with short dark hair standing in the middle of the floor, clutching a clipboard to her slight frame.

She could have fallen to the floor when the nurse in question turned to face her.

"Shaz?"

"Oh Ma'am, thank god. I thought we'd never see you again."

She rushed forward, and Alex couldn't stop herself from shaking, even as the nurse grabbed her arm.

"It's the Guv. He needs your help. It's really important."

Her eyes were blown wide, her face ashen.

"I don't know what I can do," Alex began to say, baffled and defenceless.

"He doesn't know what he's doing. He's made a deal with the devil himself." She was frenetic, chattering quickly. "You have to come back. Please, Ma'am, everything depends on you."

Fingers digging into her arm, hurting her with the intensity of their grasp.

"I can't...I don't..."

 _Where are you, Gene?_

 _I can't leave here now..._

Her eyes adjusted to darkness, shadows thrown large upon the ceiling.

 _Shit, I was dreaming._

After the reality sunk back in her breath settled in her chest, the rate of her heart slowing down. It made much more sense; of course it wasn't real. It was nice to see Shaz's face again but otherwise everything was wrong, confused. It was to be expected, she supposed. Her mind was still mixed up, hopping back and forth between times and worlds. She breathed slowly, in and out.

Molly would come back tomorrow – later today, really - at twelve o'clock. That was when she would get to see Gene again. She needed to get back to sleep but thinking of what would soon come to be she wasn't sure whether that would be achievable.

Her stomach hurt faintly and the impulse came quickly. She definitely wasn't going to get back to sleep until she went to the toilet.

In her mind she moved easily, but her body did not comply. Her legs were frozen tight, her arms just the same, as heavy as steel.

It was hard simply to breathe, though somehow she was managing it.

Her head shouted at her.

 _Get up. Come on, get up!_

Her body refused, wasn't able.

 _I can't._

In her panic her heart began to thud faster, her mind racing, bringing her back to her fevered dream, the blinding light conflicting with the consuming darkness.

 _Somebody help me. I don't know what's happening._

* * *

 **A/N: I didn't intend to go so long without an update, so apologies. This fic has taken a back-seat for me in the last few months - I think maybe my muse is getting a bit tangled with all of these timelines - but I'm hoping to get back to it sooner rather than later. Immersing myself in '80s music should do the trick...**


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20_

She wakes with a start, as though electric currents have been shot through her chest. Lying down, feeling a slight swaying beneath her.

 _This can't be right. I'm in hospital._

It was the only way to explain the agonising pain that her body was in; she had been shocked back to life, out of a near-comatose state.

It had been so dark, shadows everywhere. As she blinks she notices the light, hurting her eyes. Her head rears up slowly and she looks down at herself, sees the vivid red of the skin-tight skirt, the fishnet stockings and killer heels.

Her hand moves to her face, checking that she's not bleeding. It feels like a hole has ripped right through her.

She checks to see that she's still there, real and tangible.

Red and white all around, laughter and loud chatter filling her ears, as well as music. A song that seems rather out of place given the atmosphere, too melancholy for a party. She feels the beat of drums in her veins, coursing through her blood.

 _The rhythm is calling  
Alone in the night as the daylight brings  
A cool empty silence_

She staggers upwards, unsure whether her legs will hold her for longer than two seconds. So many people, it's almost impossible for her to move forward, but she pushes her way against the throng. A pair of hands fall upon her, sliding up from her waist, and she shoves the faceless man away before he can get any further, hearing jeering behind her.

The swelling of the music drowns it out, submerges everything.

 _The image has gone, only you and I  
It means nothing to me_

She's dizzy and confused but the music pulls her along, brings her onto the deck of the boat with the sunlight piercing her eyes. Her hands on the clothes she's wearing, which definitely don't belong to her.

 _I look like a prostitute._

She's knocked slightly on her feet by an officer in uniform, one of several who push past her. She has the mind to run towards the last of them as a couple of seconds pass, grasping out towards the black, the silver of the epaulettes shining bright in the daylight.

 _Help me. I've been shot._

 _No, that's not right. I was in a car accident. A bomb…_

 _Help me…you've got to help me._

They pay no attention to her, leave her behind. She moves forward, walking before she starts to run. When she does she runs as fast as she can, off the deck and onto land. Dazzled by the colours and sights that confront her at every turn. Runs into the arms of a man.

 _Gene?_

Her mind betrays her as she looks into his face.

"Come here, you stupid tart! You called the police!"

She shakes her head, tries to wrench herself free of his grasp. His breath soaked with alcohol as he spits words into her face.

"We've been busted! You called them in, you evil bitch! Didn't you?"

Before she can argue she is pushed hard, hands clawing at her.

"Oh, you're going to regret this, sweet cheeks."

The sound of tyres screeching sharply echoes upon the air; the entire world seems to stop and flip over. She's too scared to kick out against the arms that hold her tight, wanting things to rewind.

 _I want to go back where I was. I want to go back home._

The car is as vivid red as the scraps of clothing and heels she is wearing, a streak against the washed-out scene. Three men dart out of the vehicle, brandishing weapons that Freud would have a field day with.

The largest of the three charges forward, raising his gun in gloved hands.

"Today, my friend, your diary entry will read, 'took a prozzie hostage and was shot by three armed bastards'."

Her heart freezes in the cage of her chest.

She wants to run towards him; seeing him alive and in front of her again is almost too much for her to handle.

She should be saying other things, engaging her brain in order to placate the situation. Save her own life, potentially.

Instead all she can do is stare at him as he moves closer. She catches him glancing at her – specifically at her breasts, and then her legs – and the air slowly seeps from her lungs.

"Blimey, if that skirt was any 'igher I could see what you 'ad for breakfast. Ray, cuff this nancy berk. Chris, look after the lady. She's the classiest pro I've seen all week."

Her eyes flutter along with the stuttering of her breath, her brain unable to keep up.

She feels an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu, swears that she's lived this very moment before.

"DC Chris Skelton?" she utters.

He removes his sunglasses.

"Roger that."

She turns her head a little to the other side. "DS Ray Carling?"

He gives a quick nod of his head, and her gaze trains itself forward, to the man who haunts all of her thoughts.

"Gene…"

It's the only thing she can say, not even finishing his name in full before the world whirls to black once more, her knees giving way beneath her.

Before she can hit the ground she is caught, sinking against the arms that have held her so many times that she's almost lost all recognition.

* * *

He's tried every trick in the book – _not the one that he has written, the one he feels familiar and comfortable with_ – and he's fast running out of the last remnants of patience that he possesses.

He hates this. Not doing things his way. Not being in control.

With every different method he employs he can feel the eyes of them all upon him, the laughs and the whispers, that _he must be out of his bloody mind._

Either that, or lost it completely.

Before he can lose grip he tells himself that the pay-off will come eventually. All these mad, crackpot ideas – one of them will come to fruition, have what it takes to make Layton crack and admit to everything, every sadistic and twisted little plan he's brewed up in that evil brain of his. Then it'll be worth it. He'll have the satisfaction of seeing the scrawny git being thrown into a cell, never to see the light of day again, with the added bonus of the rest of them falling to his feet, saying _sorry, Guv_ and _we never doubted you, Guv_ , clamouring to fetch him the finest cigars and malt whisky.

He snapped himself out of the reverie, a welcome relief for the brief time that it lasted.

Reverse psychology hadn't worked – _sorry Bols, love, I did me best but I'm not a patch on you_ – and neither had sitting back, giving Layton the opportunity to spout off his faux-intellectual nonsense. He thought that would have been the winner, if someone had asked him to place a bet.

As he made his way to Room 1, retracing the same steps, he still hadn't come to a concrete decision about what it was going to be today.

He thought he'd finally gone round the twist when he opened the door to find the room empty, the two chairs on the opposite side of the table unoccupied.

"Would someone care to inform me why the bloody hell Arthur Layton is not plonked on his arse, waiting for my presence?"

"Guv, I thought DI Keats had already told you."

"Well, Parker, he bloody well has not."

Speaking of the primary thorn in his derriere, Keats was nowhere to be seen. _So much for being one of the team_ ; they were lucky if he decided to show his face for an hour each day, at most.

But Keats' disappearance wasn't the one he was concerned about.

"Will you all stop staring at me like I'm soft bleedin' Joe and tell me what is goin' on?" His bellow reverberated from the walls of CID. "More to the point, would one of you – I don't care who – let me know why our number one suspect has apparently vanished into thin air?"

After a few more seconds of infuriating silence, Parker stood from behind his desk.

"It's been 48 hours, as of one minute past nine this morning," the DI explained, as though Gene was a simpleton with no concept of standard police procedure. "With no confession and no solid evidence, there was nothing that we could do…"

Gene felt it like a swift and hard blow to his gut. He hadn't slept for more than an hour in the past two days, but he hadn't needed it – all he needed to do was get that bastard to confess and in jail before anything else could be blown to bits.

Every pair of eyes was on him, expecting him to snap, throw Parker across the room or something similar in a fit of temper.

"Guv," the DI said softly, "we're not going to stop. Chris has got a really good lead, but it'll take a couple of days."

Chris passed a file over, containing the information, but it all blurred in front of Gene's eyes.

"Fan-bloody-tastic…you all get on with that and I'll…make a few…yeah."

He retreated back to his office for as long as he wasn't needed to go and bash the heads of some wannabe scumbags, smoking his way through several packets of cigarettes until a veil of smoke became another barrier separating him from the rest of the team.

Perhaps he was losing his touch. If he couldn't nail an obvious waster like Layton, then what good was he?

A knock on the door roused him, and glancing to the clock coming out of his stupor he could see that it had gone six.

"We're off to Luigi's now, Guv, if you want to join us." Parker's voice blared against his ears, though he wasn't speaking particularly loudly. "I know it's been a rougher day than most."

"Who let 'im go?"

He saw Parker's gaze fall, his shoulders drop as he exhaled a breath.

"If it was you, and you're lyin' to me…"

They'd just managed to build something of a bond, but he wouldn't hesitate to shatter it if it turned out that he was the culprit.

"He was gone before I'd got in," Parker replied, and with all the suspicion in the world Gene could see that he was telling the truth. "I'm as gutted about it as you are."

It all made perfect sense. There he was, telling him that he needed to take a different approach, pretending to give a hoot and feeding him advice that had as much credibility as a bloke in a dress at a mother's meeting. Keats had probably slunk off to some private club with that wanker White; they'd probably been in cahoots all along, having likely gone to the same posh-knob school.

"Well, he could have given me a bloody clue…not made me look like a pillock…" he muttered into his glass, forgetting that he had emptied it some time ago.

"Look, Guv. This lead of Chris's is going to come good. And if it doesn't…then we'll find another."

The DI's eyes were wide and hopeful. _Naïve, too bloody simplistic._

At least he was on his side.

"First round's on me. The first two." He waved his wallet in the air. "I've remembered it today, there's the evidence."

Gene cracked a small smile, thoughts of getting absolutely hammered already filling his head.

"Fancy a change of scenery this evening," he said, the authority creeping back into his tone. "You ever been in a proper boozer, Parker?"

* * *

Music hummed in the room, though hardly anyone occupied the makeshift dancefloor. They weren't really the crowd for it. She hadn't persuaded Gene to take part in tradition past a somewhat awkward shuffle to the second chorus of _Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic_ ; it probably wasn't the finest choice she'd made and she could sense that he was riled, long before he muttered _"Bollocks to this"_ and went head-long in the direction of the bar.

She didn't want to change him in any way; he was never going to be one for grand, romantic gestures and she was fine with that. She didn't marry him for anything other than the man he was. Rough not only at the edges, brash, unsubtle. Definitely not everyone's cup of tea, and perhaps not even hers at first. She felt privileged to know him in a way that many others didn't, to know about all of his hidden aspects and the parts of himself he was too scared to show to the world, for the fear that the mighty legend of Gene Hunt would be dismantled piece by piece.

So she didn't mind that he spent most of the afternoon sitting in the usual corner, on the seat that had become his second throne, accepting pats on the back and handshakes, as well as a cigar or two; the thick clouds of smoke that went up temporarily cloaking him from view. She couldn't overhear what was being said, thanks to the music, other than the occasional bursts of raucous laughter. She knew she was the subject of the laddish uproar, and in a way she was strangely flattered by it. _Very strangely_.

It didn't matter what kind of indecent insinuations were being made about her or their volume; she had long since been able to shrug that kind of talk off. It was Gene, and Gene only, who would be able to live out all of their dirty little fantasies combined with her, and the thought brought a sly smile to her lips.

Excluding Gene, they also didn't have the first clue of the filth that she was capable of bringing to mind.

 _Absolute sewer._

A hand landed on her right arm, pulling her gaze away from the soft glow of the fairy lights that Luigi had pinned up to give the place more of a suitable aura for a wedding reception.

"You look so beautiful, ma'am," Shaz said again, smiling up at her with rosy cheeks and eyes that were ever-so-slightly glossy.

She had a fair inkling that the younger woman was more than a bit tipsy, entering into the celebrations of the day with unbridled enthusiasm, but the alcohol that she had consumed didn't detract from the compliment that was offered.

"Thank you, Shaz," she replied with a full-cheeked smile, still wearing the dress that she had got married in; she'd promised Gene that he'd be the one to take it off her, something he was so insistent upon she'd been half-surprised that he hadn't written it into their vows.

Looking round the room she had to wonder whether, for once – and perhaps the only instance - herself and Gene were the least intoxicated of everyone assembled. She'd had a glass or two – or even three – of Bollinger, made available upon Gene's request, but she didn't really have a taste for drink today. Probably because she didn't need or want to mask the feeling that she'd woken up with as the day had dawned, fluttering in every single fibre of her body.

Gene had also made the promise to her – with the proviso that nobody else should be any the wiser – that he wouldn't end up blind drunk, no matter how many pints were bought on his behalf and passed eagerly into his hands throughout the course of the day. He'd said something about making sure that Sergeant Rock was primed for duty, which had caused her to laugh in delight.

If there was one thing that could be guaranteed, amongst many others, it was that their passion for one another could never be diminished.

"Is it…" Shaz couldn't last more than two words before she collapsed into giggles, hunching over the drink she held in her hand, "… _funny_ now that you're married to the Guv?"

She couldn't help but chuckle herself at Shaz's hushed words, as though she'd be chastised by Gene if he was privy to them.

"It doesn't feel different so far," she confided, pushing her weight down into the soles of her heels so that she was more level with Shaz's height, "but it has only been…what…three and a half hours?"

Shaz seemed to find that hysterical, her laughter getting louder as she stumbled forward and Alex had to put out both hands to catch her.

"Are you alright?" she asked the younger woman, who was still giggling uncontrollably, "I think I should probably fetch Chris."

"No, I'm good. I promise," Shaz assured, placing a good deal of effort in stamping both feet upon the floor, smiling blearily up at her. "Can I say something, ma'am?"

"Of course."

Shaz's smile edged up to one side of her mouth before she pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "If I wasn't with Chris, and you hadn't just got married to the Guv, then I'd ask you to marry me. I'm not even joking."

Alex smiled, patting both her hands against Shaz's shoulders, righting her on her feet again.

"That is definitely the nicest thing anyone's said to me today. Aside from Gene, that is."

Shaz grinned, swaying from side to side to the music that was floating in the room. When the first few bars of _Modern Love_ by David Bowie kicked in she perked up, grabbing hold of Alex's hand.

"Oh, I love this song! Come and dance, ma'am."

She glanced towards Gene, still surrounded at every angle by his captive audience.

"I'd love to," she answered.

She was out of breath before the song finished, willing it to end quickly so that she could make her excuses and slink away. Shaz was lethal on the dancefloor, it was enough just to watch her and feel every second of her thirty seven years and two months. She gave the younger woman a round of applause and a hug before departing to the bar, thinking that a fourth glass of champagne wouldn't go amiss.

"I wanted to offer my congratulations."

It took her a few seconds to register that the voice speaking was addressing her, though it wouldn't have made sense for it to be talking to anyone else, and Gene hadn't moved an inch from where he was surrounded by admiration.

"Thank you," she replied, turning her gaze away from her new husband from the distance he was at from her and taking in the unfamiliar face. She could feel herself frowning as she stared at the man, becoming self-conscious. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before."

His mouth twitched in recognition, eyes dark behind the spectacles he wore.

"Friend of the groom," he offered, if the fact perplexed her all the more. She was quite certain that she knew everyone that Gene could call a _friend_ , but she also knew how much he valued his privacy and she had no desire to pry, trusting him completely. "We go way back, though it has been quite a while."

"Well, I'm glad you could make it. I'm sure that Gene will be too, once he knows that you're here. I can go and…"

"Oh, no," he quickly interrupted, "I wouldn't want to…well, we didn't exactly part on good terms. Unless you count his fist in my eye as a friendly farewell gesture. I don't expect he'd hesitate to give the other a dusting if he sees me."

She tipped her head to the side, feeling a certain empathy towards the stranger. Then again, Gene would have good reasons for doing that to someone he considered a friend, she was sure.

"Drink?" His spectacles slipped down his nose as he held the glass out towards her, his free hand rising to push them back into place.

Feeling uneasy she shook her head, her hesitation barely concealed.

"I'm fine, but thank you."

He didn't seem offended by her refusal, holding the glass up in the air beside him.

"More for me, then."

He tipped the glass back in one go, her gaze held in fascination as she watched him, the satisfied rasp of sound he made on finishing echoing against her ears.

"I'd best be on my way. But it was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Hunt."

He leaned forward towards her, hand brushing her elbow and lips against her cheek, stinging upon her skin where they very briefly lingered. She felt dizzy, uncomfortable for long after the exchange ended.

"Tell Gene that I hope to see him soon, on better terms. I'm sure that being married to you will soften him. Not too much, though." He smirked as he backed away, walking on the edges of his heels. "All the very best for the future."

She steadied herself with her hand against the bar once the stranger was out of sight, allaying Luigi's concerned calls of her names and insisting that she was quite well, despite the way lights twirled before her eyes and the whole room began to spin wildly about her.

Her knees were hit by a heavy weakness, but she was able to move towards the entrance before she could fall, the music that was playing burrowed into her brain as she went in pursuit of some fresh air.

It played so loudly that it felt as though it was seeping into her bloodstream.

 _Young loving may be  
Oh so mean  
Trying to revive  
The same old scene_

 _Young loving may be  
So extreme  
Maybe we should try  
The same old scene_

"Alex!"

She turned sharply at the sound of her name, unable to determine where it was coming from.

"Come back to us, Alex…come back to where you belong…"

A pain surged against the right side of her head; she crouched to her knees, hands against her temples trying to make it go away.

Still the music boomed in her ears and all around, submerging the world around her.

 _Nothing lasts forever  
Of that I'm sure  
Now you've made an offer  
I'll take some more_

* * *

Gene watched as Parker swallowed down the bitter in the glass, slowly, eyes pinched as he did so.

"Don't feel compelled to finish it on my behalf."

He hadn't fully expected the younger man to accept his offer of the drink in the first place, and when he did was quite aware that he was doing so out of courtesy. It wasn't the creeping kind that Keats would have shown, and for that he felt appeased. Give him his due, he was making a good go of it.

"No," Parker replied, shaking his head and taking a breath before valiantly facing down the remainder. He tipped the glass almost vertical as his neck craned, causing Gene to give a small smile.

He refrained however from giving the DI a round of applause.

"It's…er…an acquired taste. But I'm sure I could get used to it in time."

"Manchester's finest," Gene noted, an air of wistfulness in his tone. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever get to see the old city again; the chance seemed to narrow with each day that passed. "The only place that serves it round 'ere. I'm probably the only bastard that bothers to drink it."

"Until now."

Parker smiled at him over the small table. The worse side of him would tell him that the DI was only snivelling and sucking up to him because he had to, to save his own skin. He still didn't really believe in affinity and all that crap about fate, not even after Tyler. _Not after Bolly, either_. He supposed he was a quarter of the way converted. Maybe he just wanted to be assured that he wasn't pissing in the wind; that there were still people on his side, fighting for his cause.

Good people, at that.

"I'm sorry."

Gene grimaced slightly at the words that slipped from Parker's mouth.

"I…I misunderstood you. I've never had a boss that's…"

"As much of a pain in the arse as I am?"

"No," Parker said quickly, though Gene wouldn't have minded at this point in time if he had agreed. "I was going for _dedicated._ "

Gene snorted. "Well, that's one way of puttin' it."

He stared up from the bottom of his glass to see that the DI was contrite, expectant.

"Water under the bridge," he said firmly, waving a hand in the air. "Life's too short for us to be pissed off at each other. Too many other tossers to deal with."

"Like DI Keats?"

Gene laughed harder. " 'e is technically your superior." He wondered again which pillock saw fit to give Jimbo the rank of DCI; whatever they were on at the time must have been some mind-altering stuff. "But seein' as it's just the two of us, I'll let it slide."

He reached into his pocket for the near-empty packet of cigarettes, relieved when Parker politely refused.

"What made you want to join the force, then?"

Parker shrugged his shoulders, though the look in his eyes spoke of something greater. "I failed most of my O Levels. Didn't want to be stuck in a dead-end job all of my life, and the army sounded too much like hard work. One of the ones I failed was PE, so I would have been snookered."

"Yeah, I'm not buyin' that."

 _He wouldn't have ended up here if he didn't believe in the cause._

The DI bowed his head, mulling over Gene's accusation. His deep exhale was audible over the tinny music that came rattling from the jukebox before he spoke again.

"I suppose I wanted to make a difference. Do something that mattered. It's not about some stupid fantasy, feeling like a hero. I've never claimed to be that…just to, I don't know, make things better where and how I can. It's such a massive thing to me."

Gene nodded solemnly. He could well identify, his mind racing back past the years, seeing himself looking in the mirror as that nineteen year old in a pristine uniform, absolutely shitting himself.

"I want to make things better," Parker repeated, an edge to his tone that Gene had never perceived before. "Bring losers like Arthur Layton to justice."

"You've got a bee in yer bonnet about Layton," Gene remarked, unconsciously leaning forward in his seat. "Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing. I'd just like to know why it's this particular piece of scum who's got you so rattled."

Parker stared ahead of him, past his shoulder. He could swear he saw the younger man's heart beating hard against his throat as he remained silent. Perhaps this had been the wrong thing to do and he should have just let them get on with the job, no questions asked.

"Sorry Guv, I need a drink."

"I'll get them," Gene offered, getting to his feet before Parker could throw the table over. He lingered for a moment, checking that the DI was alright, his head pounding as he went to the bar.

Parker seemed calmer when he returned, uttering a quiet 'thanks' as he took the pint and sipped, steadily at first but then downing a little more than half in one go.

"Steady on, there's a while 'til closin' time," Gene warned, taking a sup of his own.

With some still left Parker put down his glass, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Look, I think we're on the same page here, at last, and I don't want you to think…what I'm going to say is going to sound so out there, that I don't think I should…"

Gene sighed inwardly, thinking he definitely wasn't as pissed as he should be.

"I know," he said, watching Parker's face shadow with confusion, his own stomach sinking towards his soles before he dared to continue, "I know yer from the future."

The DI opened and then closed his mouth, repeating the action so that he looked as though he was doing a first-class impression of a goldfish pressed against a bowl, especially when Gene looked at him through the lens of his pint glass.

"How…?"

"I 'aven't got the foggiest, and I don't know if I want to know either," Gene answered. _I've gone loony_ , he thought, _it's the only explanation_. "Some days I wonder whether I'm Captain bloody Kirk."

Parker laughed at that, masking their mutual bafflement.

"I'm still trying to figure it out. I mean, how does anyone go from living and working in 2008 and then find themselves transported to the early '80s? I must have taken one hell of a bump to the head."

 _You're not the first_ , he wanted to say, if it didn't hurt so bloody much simply to breathe.

He probably wouldn't be the last, either.

"It was late, I was working overtime. Someone mentioned they'd be at the pub, and I wasn't going to bother, was going to go straight home. But I'd been on a shitty case so I thought, sod it, I deserve to let off some steam. If I would have known, I'd have told myself not to bother."

A cold shiver ran through Gene; he felt a daft sod for dragging Parker along here when the last time he'd been on his way to a pub had ended the way it had. Still, he hadn't been to know.

"I was about five minutes away when two blokes jumped me. I mean, I assume they were blokes. And maybe there were more of them. Once they'd taken my wallet and watch, kicked me fifty times or so for good measure, I thought that was it. Just lie there for a while and wait until they'd gone off into the night." He paused, causing Gene to seize up. "The knife in my stomach told me differently though. It wasn't what I expected. I mean, not that I'd given a lot of thought to what it'd be like to be stabbed, but it's part of the job, isn't it? Your mind wanders from time to time."

"Jesus," Gene muttered, "I'm sorry."

"C'est la vie, I suppose." Parker slumped back, almost as if in a daze, contemplating the cruel and unseen twist of fate. "I'm going to say that I'm in hospital, where I _really_ am. Stay optimistic that somebody saw me in time."

"Let's 'ope so."

It didn't explain what the bloody hell was going on here, or what his role was in the whole palaver. It didn't really seem important in that moment.

"I know why I'm in 1983, though," Parker said after a few minutes silence, Gene assuming that he needed the time to 'process' or whatever. "I remember the summer of '83 like it was yesterday. I was just about to leave junior school. Thought I could take on the entire world."

He knew something bad was coming; only had to look at Parker's ashen face to know.

"My little sister, Lydia. She was murdered on a school trip. She'd gone back onto the bus, forgotten her packed lunch. A bomb was on board, blew it to pieces."

"Fuckin' hell," was the only thing Gene could think to say.

"It tore our family apart. We were never the same afterwards. Mum blamed herself, never let me or my brother out of her sight for longer than a few minutes at a time. Dad became obsessed with trying to get to the bottom of something so senseless. He died in the early '90s, it ended him."

He'd seen too much of it in the time he'd been part of the force. Grieving parents, having to endure something that went against all the laws of nature. He wondered how many more times he'd have to say the words that chipped away at his heart in every instance. You didn't need to have kids yourself to understand that it was the worst crime that there could be.

"I became a police officer for Lydia. I had to see to it that her death wouldn't be in vain. There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about her, think what she would be doing now...well, in the future...if she was still alive. Don't ask myself the question _'why?'_."

His expression went from hopeless to hardened, in the smallest of seconds.

"They told us – well, told my mother and father – that the bomb was so small, so sophisticated that the likelihood of detecting it before it went off was slim enough to be impossible. I started to look into it. Surely there couldn't be that many terrorist masterminds in London in 1983, not many capable of doing something like that. I trawled databases, tracked down people who might have a good chance of knowing. Time after time there was only ever one name that came back."

Layton.

 _Shit._

He gave Parker some time to decompress; he wasn't a completely heartless bastard. With each long second that ticked by he could feel the pieces start to fit into place, metaphorically speaking.

"How do you know Alex Drake?"

The question echoed hard against his ears, the look of surprise upon Parker's face quickly dissipating. Perhaps he'd learn to keep things better hidden in future.

"I know _of_ her. I never knew her personally, God as my witness."

Gene decided that it wasn't the time to say that he wasn't a believer of the man upstairs, least of all in the midst of this almighty mess.

"It was the only thing that people talked about. One of the best female DIs in London, being shot in cold blood. The shooter's description fit Layton's profile, so perhaps I took a little more interest than most."

Parker's words started to fade away, as did most of the hope Gene had. It had been wishful thinking he realised now, to place faith in believing that Parker had been close to Alex, perhaps part of the same force or even the same division.

Still, there was an established link between them. The prime suspect who had slipped through their fingers.

"Do you know…"

"If she lived?" Parker interjected, finishing his question for him. "The last I heard was she was in a deep coma, and Layton had gone on the run. I was hoping to use some time on leave tracking him down, but then…well, you know what happened."

It was still a load of bollocks; fate, the stars being in alignment. Whatever other rubbish people wanted to believe in to make their lives seem less bleak. But he was glad to have Parker here, perhaps for the first time since he'd blustered in, shouting his mouth off about his phone.

He never would have thought it would be him but there was someone else on his side, someone else who had as much motivation as he did to lock that scumbag Layton away for the rest of his days, so nobody else would have to suffer at his hands.

Parker's sister could be saved yet, if they acted fast and kept their eyes open, every hour of the day if it was necessary.

 _Bolly would be safe too._

Perhaps he'd never see her again, or if he did there would be no chance for them. He'd mope about it for a while, but it wouldn't matter, not in the grand scheme of things.

He'd live the rest of his days happy, just to know that she was alive and living the way she deserved to.

"Bet you wish you'd just gone home now, hey Guv?" Parker quipped, pulling him back.

He looked at his DI, feeling a sense of renewal flood him as swift as the pint that he polished off in the space of seconds.

"You're jokin', Dozy," he retorted, the maligned nickname bringing a smile to the younger man's face, "this is shapin' up to be the best night I've 'ad in a long time."

* * *

She arrived at the scene to the sound of crying and screaming; sounds that pierced at her heart, especially as she could hear children's screams amongst them. Smoke clouded the surrounding area, with only vague shadows of the wreckage of the vehicles distinguishable.

It was the height of summer but ice knifed through her, cutting her to her soul.

In her whole career she had never seen something so utterly horrific.

Calls of "Ma'am" reached her ears and she told herself to be strong; as the most senior officer there she had to set an example, not let her feelings be compromised. She dealt with the questions of her colleagues, offered comfort where she could, directed them to where they would be most useful.

It was such a cold way of thinking, when the world seemed to be all but splitting at the seams.

She felt a tap upon her shoulder.

"DI Drake."

"Yes?"

She reeled back on her heels as she turned to face the voice saying her name.

"Sorry," Ray replied, his face blackened with ash, "Ma'am."

"It's okay," she responded, too paralysed by confusion to say anything more. She knew that she was in her own time; if the fog of smoke wasn't so heavy she would have been able to make out the London Eye set within the skyline, as well as other more modern landmarks. "DS Carling?"

"Once you've done what you can here, we need you back at the station. It's urgent, and I can't do it on my own."

"I don't…" she faltered. Too many things were calling for her attention, and she was at a loss for where to turn.

She wasn't even sure of what was real anymore.

"The Guv won't listen to me. He won't listen to any of us." Ray's voice was becoming increasingly desperate. "The only one he'll take any notice of is you, and you just disappeared."

 _I didn't mean to_ , she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't leave her throat. _I never meant to leave like that_.

"Ma'am," another voice called to her, one of her officers running over, "there's someone…"

"Alive?" she asked.

The wide-eyed officer nodded, stunned into silence.

"Let the paramedics know. Quickly!"

She scrambled amidst the wreckage, her heart stopping momentarily as she lost her footing. Making her way closer to the burnt-out car she steeled herself for what was to come; the person that had been found against all the odds could not have possibly been in a good way.

"Hello?" she ventured, her voice shaking as she spoke, "My name is Alex, I'm here to help. If you can hold on until we can get someone who can get you out…"

"Alex," she heard a broken voice say.

"That's right." She reached her hand out tentatively, remaining crouched in place, unable to see into the vehicle.

She could have dissolved completely when a hand emerged to take hers, the touch instantly familiar, searing into her bloodstream.

 _Gene?_

She pushed herself forward, desperate to see his face.

Alarms and high-pitched sounds filled her ears, blinding white light flashing into her eyes, making her wince and recoil back, her whole body feeling like it was going into shock.

"Wake up, Alex," a faceless voice called out, getting louder and louder even as she strove to block it out.

She was so close.

"Alex," she heard the man in the car gasp again, sounding as though he was dangerously short of breath.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," she managed to say.

Her fingers slipped from his grasp, and everything fell into darkness once more.

* * *

 **A/N: _Vienna_ written by Warren Cann, Chris Cross, Billy Currie and Midge Ure, performed by Ultravox.**

 _ **Same Old**_ ** _Scene_ written by Bryan Ferry, performed by Roxy Music.**

 **Dialogue from A2A 1.1 written by Matthew Graham.**

 **I'm confused by what's going on, and I'm the one writing the bloody thing.**


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21_

Gene rakes one hand through his hair while the other is planted firmly on his desk, files upon files strewn in front of him, though their words have long ceased to be distinguishable. The aching at the back of his head is getting worse, no amount of scotch doing the trick in quelling it. He has the urge to throw it all to the floor, stomp the soles of his boots over Layton's mugshot. If he was playing by his own rules he would have done exactly that the first time they'd collared the slimy little toerag.

Instead he pours himself another glass – only half-watching where he's aiming the neck of the bottle – and sinks down into the waiting seat with a sigh. He can feel the chair protest under his arse, as if to say _go easy on me, you lardy bastard._

He doesn't care anymore. He stopped caring months ago, when the transition from day to night disappeared from his consciousness and the colour was drained from the world, both of those things not mattering without Bolly.

But it was for her that he had to nail the scum that was Layton. And, oh, he would – make no mistake about it. He wasn't sure that what he was doing in the broken snatches of sleep he was managing to get each night was _dreaming_ , exactly, but in each one he could clearly picture Layton's pathetic expression as he languished behind the heavy bars that would keep him locked up for the rest of his sorry life, unable to cause any more harm or wreck any more innocent lives.

His eyes were half-closed and his head slumped back when a tapping on the door interrupted his blank reverie. He groused at the sound, pulling himself up on the seat and shaking away the drowsiness, at least as much as he could be bothered to shift.

"I've told you, Parker, I'm in the middle of some important bloody business 'ere – "

"Excuse me, Guv. I can come back later, if you'd prefer."

That clipped voice, almost posher than Queen Liz herself, sent his pulse rocketing to a dangerous level. He rubbed his hands over his face, not believing what he was seeing standing in the doorway.

Those eyes, smouldering towards him. Those lips coated in the colour of the Quattro. That stupid jacket that didn't keep her warm enough. Those legs in those ridiculously but bloody fantastically tight jeans.

He blinked several times, convinced that he'd collapsed with a coronary and he'd hallucinated the image of her whilst being on the edge of life.

At this point in time he'd take it over all the other possibilities.

She smiled towards him, her chin tipped down and pink flushing her cheeks. He felt a warmth spreading through his chest, making him stand taller where he'd got to his feet.

If he was more alert he would have already been upon her, one hand gripping her waist and the other covering a tit – left or right, he didn't have a particular preference – while he pinned her up against the closed door, hearing her squeak against his mouth as his tongue sought entrance between her lips.

Or maybe it was that she deserved to be treated better than that. It wasn't lust that had overtaken his body – at least, not all parts of it. It was something else entirely.

Lo –

 _No. Pull yourself together, Genie boy._

"And where in Franny Lee's name 'ave you been? Was on the verge of sendin' out a search-party."

"Only on the verge?" she retorted.

"Well, I've 'ad a lot on me plate. As you'd well know if you 'adn't vanished into thin air."

"And what would said search party have been tasked with looking for?" She sauntered her way into the office, stopping short from perching that delectable arse of hers on the edge of his desk. "A missing pair of Bolly Knickers?"

She smirked up at him in a way that would normally thoroughly piss him off, thinking that she'd got the better of him. Instead he felt the lump in his throat only grow larger as her eyes bore into him, staring into the soul that he wanted to keep well and truly shielded from her, so she wouldn't know that life had been as good as hell without her.

He couldn't look away from her though, feasting on the sight of those elegant and far-too-pretty features like a man who'd been starved and deprived of the most simple of pleasures, never mind anything as exquisite as she was.

"I'm serious, Alex. You 'ad me thinking that I'd lost it entirely."

She broke gaze with him, looking down guiltily at the floor. He felt like a proper bastard for berating her, definitely going soft in his old age.

"The least you could 'ave done was left a bloody note."

Her head tipped up again, her eyes looking back into his. He could read the anguish on her face, the genuine regret.

"I'm sorry," she parted her perfect lips to say, gaze pleading forgiveness, "there was something I needed to see to. But it's taken care of now."

Something to do with Molly, her daughter, he supposed. He wished that she would confide in him, give him the chance to try and understand.

Maybe they had a little further to go along the road first.

"There's somethin' I need to see to an' all," he couldn't stop himself from making the bawdy insinuation, feeling that it stood him on firmer ground while he afforded himself an ogle at the neckline of her shiny blouse. "But I s'pose it'll 'ave to wait."

She arched an eyebrow in agreement as he huffed out a sigh.

"You're back now. And that's the main thing."

Her face softened in a smile. "Back where I belong."

Just then it all faded away; the sleepless nights, the permanent pain in his head and centre of his chest that reminded him every second of every thankless day of everything he'd lost and all of the things he'd been too much of a coward to say.

That smile of hers warmed his cold heart through, but it was not the time to get sentimental.

"Too bloody right," he uttered gruffly, too much scotch having burned his throat, "there's a case that needs that ridiculously big brainbox of yours on it."

She smirked at the compliment he offered her, her gaze directed to the mess of paperwork and photographs snapped from surveillance outings. She leant both hands where there was space upon the desk, red nails picking their way through the mounds of evidence.

Gene rocked back on his boots, watching her absorb herself and finding himself in awe. Only for a few seconds out of several minutes did he break off to glance at her arse, pulling his head back and shoving his hands deep in his pockets when she just happened to look over her shoulder and catch him in the act.

She simply smiled, straightening her frame to hand over a grey file which he had thought long lost, blaming the cleaner several times over in his head for getting rid of it with the rubbish.

"Now I'm not sure, but this looks like it could be important."

"Bingo, Bollykecks. I could bleedin' kiss yer." His mouth twisted as her eyes lit in expectation. "Well, I could do a lot more than that…"

She leaned in closer to him, that fruity perfume of hers wafting right up his nostrils, scrambling his brain even further. His trousers suddenly felt ten times too tight, and if she moved just an inch nearer then she'd be in absolutely no doubt of the investigation he wanted to carry out.

 _Never mind want_. It was a need that he'd pushed away for too long, losing all interest in filthy fantasies when she wasn't around to turn them into reality.

"Focus, Guv," she wrenched away from him at the last, painfully frustrating second. The growl that escaped his throat couldn't be stopped. "Let's get business done first. Then, I promise,"

He watched intently as she reached out a hand towards him, fingers inching up the path of his tie.

"There'll be _lots_ of time for pleasure."

It was a bloody miracle that he didn't keel over and slump to the floor that very second.

Together they set to work, holed up in his office. It was everything he'd dreamt of, when he was afforded the luxury of doing so. He might ask her where exactly she went over one bottle of good stuff and several bottles of house rubbish at Luigi's. It was more than likely that she'd say it without him having to bother, wittering on and spouting a load of psycho-babble nonsense that he couldn't begin to decipher given a million years. He'd listen to every word, nodding along where he thought he needed to, until the important stuff came out.

 _I've missed you._

 _Jesus Christ, how I've missed you._

He'd lost all track of time, the ashtray that was beginning to overflow one of the testaments. There was a slight fog in the room, but she was close enough for him to take notice of her crumpling expression.

"Bols," he uttered as she winced, wriggling on the chair, "you need a slash? Sorry…I mean, _to spend a penny_."

She let out a weak stutter of a laugh, shaking her head lightly. She was very pale, he noticed, the colour sucked from her cheeks.

"No, it's just…"

He watched her as she got to her feet unsteadily, all the while thinking that he should be telling her to park her arse back down, and took her hands away from where they were clutching the leather jacket to her abdomen.

The white of the leather had turned crimson red, her hands covered in blood too as she revealed the gaping wound that punctured her stomach for two seconds.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered in a horrified whisper, completely perplexed as to where it had come from, " _Bolly_."

He couldn't get to her fast enough, rushing round to catch her as her knees buckled. Her hands had gone back to pressing down upon it, in an attempt to stem the blood flow and relieve the pain, but he had been able to detect that it was a gunshot wound. His mind raced with thoughts that collided, the foremost that he would wring the neck of whoever had shot her. As she looked up at him with desperate, flickering eyes, his priorities quickly shifted.

"Gene," she rasped, her voice already barely audible.

"Stay with me, Alex," he reassured her, trying his best to stay calm as he could feel her turning colder and shivering underneath his hands. "You 'ear me? Stay. Stay right 'ere."

She was getting paler by the second, but she managed a smile towards him as she lay in his arms.

"That's all…" Her voice was wavering, he strained to hear her, although he felt he knew what she wanted to say. "That's all I wanted…"

 _Oh God. Oh Christ, no._

 _She couldn't leave him now, not after all this time._

Not like this.

"Oh, dear me. You really ought to get that seen to, DI Drake."

Keats had materialised apparently out of nowhere, a sliver of a smirk on his face as he came nearer, almost as though he was gliding across the room rather than walking.

"I can take care of things from here…"

As the other man crouched down, looming over her prone body, Gene pushed himself forward, determined to protect his Bolly and to keep that pencil-necked brown-noser away.

"Don't you dare!"

He was paralysed, limbs turning to lead where Keats was swift, gathering Alex into his arms and pulling her across the floor. Gene was on his hands and knees, trying to scramble towards them, reaching a hand towards one of her high-heeled boots.

"There there, I've got you."

Keats' voice droned, and Gene could hear the menace beneath the illusion of comfort he was offering, Alex turning swiftly limp as the seconds passed. Gene's blood was turning thick and icy in his veins; he couldn't bear it as it was, but for her to spend her last moments in _his_ arms, to be the last thing she knew…it would destroy him.

And yet he was physically unable to move. It was as if Keats had cast a spell on him.

"It's alright, Alex," he heard Keats whisper with his head bowed; a dagger to his heart, "it's over now. You can be at peace."

He leaned down; for a sickening moment it seemed like he was going to kiss her, and Gene was ready to bellow his lungs out, in the absence of being able to do anything physical.

Instead he angled his mouth to Bolly's ear, whispering something that Gene was unable to hear. Whatever it was, he knew in his soul that it was far from delivering peace. He saw her hand clutch onto Keats' arm in a fit of fear, and Keats hold onto her tighter, even when her body stopped moving.

Dark eyes framed behind glass stared at him, bereft. The bastard was sick enough to smile at him as his world had been torn to shreds.

"I'm sorry, Gene. Truly I am. At least take consolation from the fact that she's in a better place now."

 _Bastard. Bloody, fucking bastard._

He tossed her onto the floor and then moved towards him.

"As for you…"

 _I don't give a fuck what happens to me anymore._

He woke with a start, head and shoulders juddering. He hadn't even had the satisfaction of punching that knobhead Keats squarely in the face.

The office was in shadow. Rearing up slowly from where he had been laying on the desk, he put one hand to his neck and fumbled around with the other for his watch. With narrowed eyes he read that it had just gone seven AM.

He didn't bother going home anymore. There wasn't any point in staring at the telly and the four walls when there was work to be done. Any road, kipping here did the job, and it meant that he didn't need to waste any time. In two hours time the place would come to life once more. Parker would knock on his door, mumbling to ask whether he was alright and saying again that he shouldn't have been there all night. Again, he'd tell him to mind his own business, sometimes in not so many words or particularly polite ones.

He was fine, usually. The lack of sleep was sharpening his focus, he was fairly sure of it.

It'd take him longer to shake it off today, the nightmare coming as a shock to his numbed senses.

The image of Bolly burned into his brain.

Light on, scotch in glass. Time to wake up properly, and a few slaps to his face aided that. He gave his desk a quick tidy, it being in a similar state to that which confronted him in his dream, and pulled out a couple of files from the most recent interviews to peruse again.

Chris's lead had come good – a surprise to him and DS Skelton himself, but not everyone else apparently. It had taken a few weeks but one associate had led to another, until a domino effect had been produced within Layton's underground network. Enough of them had been persuaded to come forward, with the promise of immunity when the outcome that they were increasingly hopeful for occurred. There was the bonus that enough dots emerged to be joined, with more than one giving the same details of Layton's masterplan.

A triple hit of bombings, scheduled to take place in just over a week's time – if the scumbag Layton hadn't got wind of his cronies going behind his back and decided to alter proceedings. So far, so good.

There was one more interview to conduct before then, and it was a big one. One of Layton's most trusted right-hand men and suppliers, who'd been harbouring resentment that his part in the previous hit on Brokeborough's had been severely downplayed. If he let them in on the juicy details then nabbing Layton for good was a foregone conclusion.

He wouldn't break out the cigars just yet, but he had a good feeling about what was to come – and good feelings these days were as rare as City winning a match by two clear goals. Arthur Layton banged up and Keats off the team and back lurking in his basement; both things couldn't come quickly enough as far as he was concerned.

Still, he couldn't get too far ahead of himself. Things had a nasty habit of going tits-up round here of late, which meant he had to be at his best.

Well, in so far as that was possible.

Having worked his way through his glass, he poured out another measure, hesitating for a moment or two before getting a second glass from out of the drawer. He set his mind on focusing on the better times – the days out on the streets in the Quattro, the evenings draining Luigi dry of his stock, the nights pressed against her body and the sheets of her bed, all silky satin and softness.

He raised both glasses in his hands before taking a sip, not caring that he looked like a numpty – there was nobody around to see him, anyway.

 _Bottoms up, Bolly. This one's for you._

* * *

He woke up at not long gone five the morning of the operation, an unsettling feeling settled deep within his gut. Anyone else would take it as a sign. _Anyone with a firm grip on their senses and a shred of hope._ A dangerous combination, he told himself, pretending that he wasn't shitting himself at the mere thought that everything would fall through.

If it did then it would be the end of the road for him, that was for sure.

Eleven fifteen on the dot; that's when the first raid would take place. All three locations had been verified by several of those who had snitched on Layton, helping them to dig his grave. A bank, a second jewellers', and a safe deposit store filled with God only knows how much. Hundreds of thousands, if not a million.

They were to split into teams to head up the counter-raids. If it was possible, Gene would have been at all three sites, just to have the satisfaction of knowing that Layton was well and truly snookered. He didn't expect the toerag to be there in person; he was too much of a coward for that, getting others to do his dirty work for him while he reaped the rewards from afar.

Well, not this time around, if all went according to plan.

Ray, Chris, Poirot and Bammo would take the bank, Romeo and the B team taking the jewellers'.

With the bond they'd just begun to form, he wanted Parker with him – it was only right, all things considered. Terry was a safe pair of hands, steady as a rock in a crisis.

He couldn't care less about Keats; it wasn't like he was going to be much use anyway, unless he pulled off the biggest surprise of the whole thing by actually doing something worthwhile instead of standing in the background. Still, might as well have him where he could be seen. Who knows, he might actually learn a thing or two.

By half ten he'd made his way through one and a half packs of cigs. For some unknown reason he hadn't touched a drop of scotch. He kept himself in his office, blinds shut, until the very last moment. Mulling things over, going through every step in the sequence in his brain. Picturing the colour seeping from Layton's face and the thrill coursing through his veins at the thought of the cuffs snapping upon Layton's scrawny wrists.

Such things were overshadowed quickly as the matter at hand loomed above everything else.

His hands on the wheel of the Quattro, following the route to the deposit store, his mind began to wander. _I really need a piss, should have gone before heading off._

Keats was sitting directly behind him, breathing through pursed lips. The sound irritated him like nothing else. He tried to catch Terry's eyes in the rear view mirror, get him to have a quiet word.

 _Jesus, I wish this was over and done with._

He threw a glance to his left, noticing the grave look on Parker's face. He seemed pained, sombre, but also intently focused, full of determination. A hell of a lot was at stake for the matter of minutes, seconds even, that it would take to intercept Layton's master plans.

Lives hanging in the balance.

He has the urge to take the car in a different direction entirely, thinking of the nearest comparison in both time and scale. Bolly had been so convinced about King Douglas Lane whereas he'd had his doubts. New ones emerged now, gnawing away at him. What if Layton's cronies had been bluffing? He kept his eyes on the road but his head was all over the place.

Best to stick to the plan. It was the adrenaline fooling him, he was sure. Almost.

His heart was going a hundred to the dozen when he got out, the others following him close behind. _Now would not be the time for it to pack in._ He showed his card and the warrant to the guard at the front of the building, half expecting to be denied. The guard stepped to the side to let them in and they streamed through, one after the other behind him.

They were inside for less than five minutes, just about getting to the hold that had been pinpointed as the one where Layton had planted the bomb, when Chris sent a message through on the radio that they'd got the one at the bank and it had been safely diffused. It gave them around eleven minutes, possibly less. The second guard was some years older than the one that had been waiting at the exterior door and Gene found himself getting increasingly impatient, wanting to get his hands on the locks himself.

When they were in the hold they got to work immediately, Terry taking the lead with Parker close at his back. While Terry worked on cracking the safe that they knew contained the bomb, the call from Romeo came in. Gene barked out some words of praise, his gaze fixed firm in front of him. There was barely any air in here, but he supposed, somewhere distant in his mind, that that was the point.

More images flashed up; Bolly in her underwear, hair damp and sticking to her face, eyes wide and petrified as she looked at him.

The click wasn't loud as Terry got the safe open, passing the box inside to Parker. Gene heard himself telling Parker to be careful. God knows what Keats was doing, or whether he'd even followed them inside.

He walked forward, stepping part way in front of Parker as he got the box open, working on instinct. No matter who they were, he'd always protect his own.

"Nothing," Parker said, his voice full of disbelief. "We couldn't have got it wrong."

Gene seconded that, not after all of the hours they'd spent. He stared down, half expecting an explosive to magically appear from thin air and prove all their hard work right.

"It's got to be in one of 'em."

"But Guv, we haven't got the time."

He chose to ignore Parker's protestation, though he did acknowledge the DI with a look.

"Terry, keep trying the code on the others." He fumbled with his gloves, getting ready to get to work himself. "Parker, you take the left side."

The DI knew better not to argue and between them they raced against the clock, opening safe after safe, searching the contents inside. There was ticking sounding inside his head, almost throwing him completely. There had to be something, Layton wouldn't let this opportunity pass him by.

Time both trudged and taunted them, taking forever until Parker shouted "Guv!"

Gene remained baffled as Parker handed the letter that was addressed to him over, seeing for himself that there was nothing else in the box. He split the envelope, almost dropping the note in his haste to know of the contents.

 _DCI Hunt –_

 _How many years have you been doing this? And still you haven't learnt the fundamentals. Let me give you a reminder._

 _1\. Don't believe everything you hear._

2\. _Lying is remarkably easy._

 _3\. Trust your instincts._

 _It really is that Black and White._

His eyes lingered on the last word, pure fear surging through his veins.

"Shit."

He moved without thinking, breaking into a run, Parker's calls of 'Guv' dulling so much that they could have been whispers. As soon as the engine kicked in he could have sped off, not thinking about whether they'd caught up to him.

Did he know the address, the street as the starting point? He just had to drive and trust that it'd come to him as he went. All he could see in his mind was her, walking, walking and then turning around slowly, to show a bloodied, almost unrecognisable face, the sight making his heart seize.

Mossgrove Road. Sod it, he was taking the chance.

He didn't have another option.

He flew out the door of the Quattro towards the row of town houses, picking out the black door, almost a hundred per cent certain that he'd seen it before. Both of his fists were on it in an instant, accompanying his yells of "Police! Open up!"

He was getting ready to take a run, foot first, when White wrenched the door open, his eyes going wide.

"Hunt? What the hell are you – "

"No time for chit-chat," he said, barging past the startled solicitor and heading straight for the stairs.

"You can't just…Hunt! Hunt!"

He surveyed the doors at the top of the stairs, stumbling for a second before deciding on the one on the right.

She was there, cross-legged on the floor, big eyes turning towards him in the doorway, mousy hair in plaited pigtails.

"Hello, little lady. I 'ope you don't mind, but somethin' told me that you and your godfather might need my help."

She kept looking at him, her expression blank before she broke into a smile. It took some work to reconcile it with everything else that was going on in his head, but he had to focus on the here and now. The version of Alex that was before his eyes, definitely and undeniable real. Exactly where she should be in time.

"What's that you've got there?"

He crouched down, eyes still trained upon her as she shyly offered her hand towards him, showing him the cassette tape that she was holding.

"Duran Duran? They're a load of sh- rubbish. You tell Evan from me to get you something decent to listen to."

She didn't say anything but let out a small giggle.

His head told him that he should be tearing the room apart, looking for what had to be there, somewhere. He wasn't sure how much time there was left, losing all concept of it.

"Evan didn't get it for me," she said after a few moments had passed. "One of the men he looks after did."

This was the chatty Alex he was after, he thought through the haze and the chaos.

"Good girl," he said, keeping his gaze held with hers, not wanting to scare her.

"They got that for me as well."

He followed the pointing of her finger to the bright pink boom box, which looked out of place with everything else in the pristine room, all washed-out pastel colours.

He got up slowly, walking hardly any distance at all to examine the item. He could sense little Alex's eyes upon him, holding his breath as he ran his gloved fingers over the buttons, feeling a small but discernible detonator on the eject button.

"Is it alright if I bring some of my friends to 'ave a look?"

Little Alex nodded.

"And is it alright if I bring you downstairs to see Evan?"

She nodded again, getting to her feet. Gene put the boom box down with great care and minute precision, heart in his mouth in case the bloody thing went off with the slightest movement. Alex held her hand out towards him and he smiled down at her as he took it. The staircase wasn't wide enough for them to go down it in the same way so he picked her up instead, chest clenching when she wrapped her arms about his shoulders with far less hesitance than he'd expect, given that he'd only ever met her once before.

At the station, once the bomb had been diffused and disposed of, Evan sat in one of the interview rooms, staring at the wall in silence. It was only when Shaz entered alongside Gene, going in front to ask if Evan wanted a cup of tea, that the solicitor broke down. Once he started it took him a long time to stop, and all Gene could do was watch the man fall apart in front of his eyes. He couldn't find any words of comfort; they weren't exactly his forte.

"She could have…in an instant. That's all it would have taken." He looked a state, eyes streaming and expression both haunted and wildly alert. "And I didn't even know. I couldn't have even…"

He didn't finish before he started crying again. Gene couldn't say that he had a lot of empathy for the other man. All he could think about was how there was no way on earth that Evan White remain Alex's guardian. By all rights he should be able to arrest the bloke on multiple charges, neglect being one of the lesser.

Yet he couldn't do it, wouldn't even contemplate leaving her alone in the world. He supposed that she could go to one or other set of grandparents, if they were still living that was. It would be another upheaval in her young life, and selfishly, he couldn't risk being the source of future resentment for her, being the one responsible for putting her remaining parental figure behind bars, alongside the maniac who tried to kill her twice before she had even turned ten.

If he ever crossed paths with her again.

He'd left her with Chris and Ray while White pulled himself together, unable to face her after giving her a final pat on the head once they'd arrived at the station. It was too much for him to comprehend when his mind was still full of her in another guise, somewhere else in time. If he hadn't been played for a fool for the last two years.

As he retreated to the safety of his office, thinking about how he wasn't much better than White when it came to protecting her – it was Parker who came across Layton's note, and he couldn't fool himself otherwise – he cracked open a new bottle of scotch, wanting to drown the day that was far from being over, pretending that he couldn't see the spectacled figure with his hands in his pockets, staring at him through the open blinds.

He finished off the glass, pouring out another measure before moving towards the window. He took one last look at Keats before yanking the blinds firmly closed, sending the room into darkness.

* * *

Her eyes blinked open slowly, and the first thing she was aware of was the faint, low sound of music. A song that she was vaguely familiar with but which she couldn't properly follow, not the tune nor the words. She felt like she was spinning slightly, tilting from side to side. The room was very warm, almost uncomfortably so, and it felt like she was shrouded.

When her eyes were open properly she was confronted with stark, white-blue light, the intensity of which made her head hurt. The music was getting louder, and accompanying it was the sound of someone humming along, quiet at first but becoming steadily louder and more emphatically confident.

She wanted to lift her head to see where – who it was coming from, but she was physically unable.

Something told her that it wasn't Gene, and yet the spark of hope in her heart yearned to defy logic.

She murmured rather than spoke, not sure that she would make much sense if she dared. A shadow loomed large on the ceiling above her, the silhouette unmistakably masculine.

"Ah, you're awake. That took less time to wear off than I expected it would, but then you are something of a medical marvel, so I shouldn't be entirely surprised."

The voice was unknown, and yet somehow familiar to her; she couldn't place where from, another sharp surging of pain going through her head when she tried to narrow her thoughts.

She was having trouble doing that, so she decided to try for the physical aspect instead. Her body felt numb, limbs like dead weights, and though she was sure she felt herself moving fluidly her blood seemed static in her veins, and the strange sensation sent her into a spiral of fear.

"Now now, let's not struggle," the voice was closer now, with a pair of hands clamping down upon her arms, almost hurting her with the tightness of their grip, "you'll regain your motor skills soon enough. I can assure you that you're perfectly safe and no harm has come to you at all, so there's no need to panic."

Alex looked up at the ceiling, not entirely convinced. Her breath felt tight in her throat and she fought back tears, counting in her head to calm herself down. Thinking of Molly, safe and sound, sleeping at home. Thinking of Gene, not out of the woods but still fighting, as was his natural state of being.

She was staring at the same spot when the lingering shadow made way for a face, with jet black hair and half-rimmed glasses over his eyes. He stared down at her, a smile shifting the previously serious expression that had been fixed in place.

"How do you do, Alex? No, it's okay, you don't need to answer that. Silly of me, really, but I've been so anxious to meet you. We didn't get the chance before you came back, which made me rather sad as I knew you were special. Oh, now I'm rambling – this is a terrible first impression, I apologise."

His smile widened as he brought his face closer down to where she was lying prone.

"I'm DCI James Keats. Jim, for short." He scoffed a laugh; she could feel his breath hot upon her face. "Definitely _not_ Jimbo."

There was a certain quality to the way he laughed which made her distinctly more uneasy than she already was. Not to mention how a police officer had been permitted without any other supervision into her room, and had apparently injected her with something that caused significant paralysis.

"I'm here to help you," he said before she could even move her mouth, "let there be no question about that. It has always been my intention."

He peered down at her from behind his glasses, an intense stare which did nothing to assuage her doubts.

"I know you've heard that before, from less than reliable sources. I can understand your distrust. I'd feel exactly the same way in your situation. But believe me, Alex, I'm on your side."

Those four words sliced through her chest; she almost gasped with the pain but pursed her lips instead, aware of Jim Keats' eyes still pinned upon her.

"The last few weeks have been confusing. You ask questions – you can't help it, it's written into your DNA – but nobody will answer you. They think you're fragile, in need of a gentle recovery. Slow and steady, that's what will do the trick. But I know differently. You're a tough cookie if there ever was one. You can handle the hard truth. You _need_ it; it's like medicine to you."

He lowered his face to her again, inspecting her with a keen gaze.

"I can certainly see where Molly gets her tenacity from."

"Molly," she uttered her daughter's name on instinct, claiming her back from this stranger.

"Is perfectly fine," he replied, "you have nothing to worry about with her. Takes after her mother. Strong, a spine of steel."

She didn't want him talking about Molly, even if a wave of relief washed over her to know that she was safe.

"Gene," she said, his face enlarging in her mind, "how is he?"

Jim Keats did not answer her, staring cold and hard instead, his expression showing something akin to contempt.

"Gene," she repeated, hoping the impossible that he would burst through the door, fully recovered, and take her away from Jim Keats and his unnerving eyes, the bright light and bleach-like smell of the hospital walls.

She heard him tutting in the back of his throat, the _tap tap tap_ of his soles upon the polished floor. The fact he wasn't giving her a straight answer, after what he'd just relayed about the _truth_ , made her anxious.

"And therein lies the problem at the root of it all," he finally said, his voice moving from closeness to distance as he paced back and forth, "the disease resistant to every cure."

The tapping of his shoes stopped, his face above her again.

"Until now."

A sickening smile stretched his mouth and a light surged in his eyes. She despised both, revulsed at the sight of him.

"I won't sugar-coat it. At the end of the day we all want you better, back to the Alex Drake that is revered amongst her peers and superiors alike. A shining beacon in the police force and thoroughly respected for her astute insights in the realm of psychological profiling."

It was impossible not to pick up on the use of the name. Drake, not Hunt.

"Anyone in that very same realm would understand completely why you did it. Really, it wasn't even a conscious decision. I'd refer to it as a _cushion_ , to ease the way back." His tone shifted from being soft to authoritative and clinical, faster than she'd ever known anyone else to demonstrate it. "You're aware yourself, Alex, deep down. You created an illusion. An almost-perfect existence whereby you were married to him and Molly was his child. A world where everything looks the same, but if you hold on for long enough you'd feel it disintegrating in your hands."

"No," she spoke, "that can't…"

It was real, she was certain that it was. Of course, it was strange at first, but once she had started to peel back the layers she knew that it felt right. That she was back home.

"You know that it wouldn't have been like that if you had stayed in the '80s? Somewhere where you didn't fit. At least not that version of yourself." He smiled down at her. "You _are_ home, Alex. Well, I'd say you're ninety five per cent there. As soon as you let go of the one thing that's holding you back, the chain around your neck, then you'll be home completely. Your road to recovery can truly begin."

His pause was not long enough to allow all that he had said thus far to sink in.

"It's a nasty thing, though. Incredibly stubborn and unbearably possessive. I can see how the others were lured in. Even Sam Tyler. That was a terrible shame, he had such promise ahead of him. My colleague in Manchester simply didn't try hard enough. I swore to myself that I would not let the same thing happen to you. You have too much talent, too much to give to the world. A child, the greatest gift there is." He stopped to take a breath. "He has nothing. Nobody. That's why he always has to take what isn't his to keep. A senior police officer, making his life from stealing. Well, not any more. I'm going to stop him for good. That's why you're so special, Alex. Because you're the one who's going to put an end to him, by living your life. Taking back what is yours."

There was so much rushing around within her; pain, anguish, confusion, anger. Absolute heartbreak at the thought of being parted from Gene for good. At the unthinkable idea that he would no longer exist, in whatever realm he belonged to.

"Let me see him, please. You have to let me see him. Just once more."

She couldn't take much more of the things he was saying, though she had little choice in the matter.

"Oh, I'm feeling rather nostalgic now. Not that the '80s were the greatest of times, you're definitely far better off coming back to the Noughties. But they did have some merits."

The music that had been playing faintly switched to something she recognised instantly, the volume being turned up, almost so much that it made her eardrums throb. She wondered whether he was doing it purposely to drown out her pleading.

 _Every breath you take  
Every move you make  
Every bond you break  
Every step you take  
I'll be watching you_

"Great song. It's no Club Tropicana, mind. But it does have something about it."

As the song played on, Jim Keats continued to hum and sing along, peering over her bed at intervals.

"Don't fancy a sing-along, Alex? I think it would really cheer you up."

"I just want to see Gene."

A couple of beats passed before he said, lowly, "well, we can't always get what we want."

She attempted to wiggle her toes, make the smallest and most apparently fruitless of movements if it meant that she could get out of the bed and see what was going on for herself.

 _Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace  
I dream at night, I can only see your face  
I look around but it's you I can't replace  
I feel so cold and I long for your embrace_

She turned her head to look towards the door, helpless as Jim Keats moved across the floor in side-strides, mimicking dancing with an invisible partner. He threw his head back as he sang the next line of the song with particular gusto:

 _I keep crying, "Baby, baby, please"_

She shook her head, screwed her eyes shut to stop the tears from escaping. He was laughing, she could hear it bouncing from the walls.

"It never would have worked. He's too set in his ways. You might have thought you'd be happy and that you'd be the one to change him. It would have all ended in tears. Him getting a bit on the side, even several, and you, trapped somewhere you shouldn't even have been in the first place. I'm doing you a favour, Alex. You'll thank me for it later down the line."

The image of Gene was still in her mind; she saw him standing on his own in the street at nighttime, overcoat cloaking his shoulders. He looked desolate, desperate, and she longed to reach out her hand towards him.

"Honestly, a month will go by, not even that long, and you'll have forgotten that Gene Hunt ever existed."

 _Never_ , she thought.

He stopped gloating long enough for her to gain some peace of mind, though it was of little consolation when she was so ineffectual. If this was her illusion, then surely she had some semblance of control? If she focused hard enough then she would be able to cast him out, away from her and away from Gene too, regardless of whether he was real or only existing in her memory.

If anything, his presence only seemed to solidify.

"I had best be going soon," he said, "it's been a pleasure, Alex. I wish we could have got to know each other better, but I'm glad that it's worked out for the best for you. Or that it will, soon enough."

He raised his hand above her bed so that she could see the syringe he wielded.

"A lethal dose. The consolation for you is that it'll be quick. If I had my way then he'd suffer for longer, but I don't want to be accused of being completely heartless."

She felt her eyes going wide, repulsed by another of his taunting smiles, but heartsick most of all.

"Nothing to say? No final words? That's not like you. Oh well, never mind. I can say some for you instead. Oh, what's that song by those girls – how does it go? Ah, that's right. 'Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.'"

He continued to sing the refrain, even as she called out, hoping to appeal to some merciful part of Jim Keats.

"No! Please, no, don't do this. Please."

A door swung shut, leaving silence and the almost blinding light extinguished.

* * *

He wasn't one to bother with trials. Once his side of things was done and dusted he'd done his job, as far as he was concerned, not to mention that most of those occupying the next stage were stuck-up, overbearing know-it-alls who thought that they had all the power in the world just because they handed out a few sentences here and there.

It was a different matter with Layton, however. He wanted to be there to witness every moment of the scumbag's downfall, make sure that he got everything that was coming to him and then some. He sat in the gallery, alongside Parker who was there for a couple of days – Gene didn't want his DI to go through the unnecessary pain of seeing the whole thing.

Evan White was there as well, in a different place from that he was used to. Every now and then Gene would glance over at him, and see that he was living up to his name, his face drained of colour as he stared out his former client. As well as the other charges that had been brought against him, that of the manslaughter of Caroline Price was reinstated.

The cheers were saved for outside the courtroom when Layton was found guilty of every charge. That same night there was an almighty piss-up in Luigi's, most of the drinks being bought by Parker, who was spending money like it was going to go out of fashion before the end of the week. The team had earned the celebration, having spent a countless number of hours on the case. While Gene took part, half of him craving the emotional release that pint after pint served up brought, the other half had long had his fill. The best reward for him would come in the form of several hours spent in a warm bed, even if it would be empty.

At the back of his mind Layton's face remained, burned into his brain. He probably wouldn't be able to get to sleep again because of the image, but it was a small price to pay.

He was at the station, wanting to escape the festivities but not being able to face going home just yet. He sat in the dark for a while; it didn't really matter when his eyes were closed anyway.

Bolly would no doubt have some fancy, unpronounceable name for what he was doing. Whatever that was, he wasn't sure if it was even going to work.

"Thought you'd want to soak up every drop of the victory."

Jesus Christ. Even now he couldn't get rid of him. Maybe he waited in the shadows for these moments precisely.

"Well they don't want me hangin' about, keepin' an eye on them. They deserve to let their 'air down without any restrictions for one night."

"And you're not entitled to that either?"

His chin dropped down to his chest; he was not in the mood to start a verbal sparring match with Jimbo. When a shrug of the shoulders didn't suffice he followed it up with a remark which he hoped would get the other man off his back.

"I'll save it for me own time."

Admittedly it wasn't the best he could come up with, leaving the floodgates wide open rather than barricading them. For some reason Keats decided not to pursue the topic, taking the seat a couple of desks away from him.

"It is a remarkable feat. One for the history books of Fenchurch East."

Gene bobbed his head in an acknowledgement of thanks, he supposed, exhaling from the cigarette he'd sparked up the minute before Keats had waltzed in, undetectable.

"It's just a shame that it won't actually count for anything."

"You what?"

A shaft of light fell upon one side of Keats' face, reflecting from the pointed rim of his glasses down to the slight upward curve of his mouth.

There was an echo of silence coming from the walls, so much so that Gene suspected he might have gone deaf. Either way he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Ah, probably should have said something about that before," Keats began, sounding too loud. He leaned back in the chair, eyes towards the ceiling.

 _Too much of a coward to look me in the eye._

"Time. It's a funny, complex thing. You can't play around with it too much, else you risk all sorts of terrible things happening. Little changes aren't that bad, like wearing a red tie instead of a grey one. Hardly anyone would notice that, after all."

He got to his feet; Gene tracked the movement as he went, despite himself.

"Layton," Keats sighed, a little exaggeratedly, "well, he was always going to land himself in it, one way or another. Don't think that I'm underestimating your efforts; having seen them at such close quarters I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."

At that moment he did dare to lock gaze with Gene, with a sickly smile on his face. There was nothing to stop him from punching it clean off, except Keats himself and whatever voodoo he was employing.

"But that's also to say that it doesn't matter that you arrested him and landed him with a sentence. Things, I am so very sorry to say, will happen as they were meant to regardless. DI Parker's sister will still have her life cut short, in a bus crash rather than by a bomb put together by Layton's hands."

"No," Gene uttered simply, almost a whisper.

Keats came closer, his head lowered. He was putting on a show of sympathy, Gene could tell that much; it made the blood sizzle in his veins.

"Twenty five years? Arthur won't do even half of that. You know what he's like, a bit of a suck-up by all accounts. All that shoe-shining, doing little favours…I reckon he'll be back out by the time 1995 rolls around. Maybe even before then."

Gene shook his head, chin pointed towards the ground. _Bastard._

He wasn't sure whether he was talking about Layton, Keats or himself.

A hand landed upon his chest, and he may as well have been catapulted across the room.

"And…Alex," Keats simpered.

Gene wanted to shrug him off, every urge in his body and soul compelling him to do so, but whatever power Keats was employing was too strong to renounce.

"Tell me she doesn't die."

Keats remained silent, lowering his head again.

"Jim," Gene said, keeping his eyes firm upon the other man, "tell me."

 _Fucking bastard. You made me believe that I could save her._

"I don't know what else to say," he returned after a long, excruciating silence. "You did a sterling job. Really magnificent. She'd be honoured, I'm sure."

He moved his hand upwards, bracing Gene upon the shoulder.

"It's been a pleasure. I'll make sure that the slate gets wiped clean, your previous misdemeanours overlooked. I think it's only fair, all things considered."

He gave another smile before pushing hard, Gene almost falling backwards.

The same things going round on repeat in his head.

 _I tried. We all did._

 _I'm so bloody sorry._

 _I hope you can forgive me, Alex._

The pleasure of seeing Keats walk out of his station – his kingdom – for the last time was tainted by the heavy fog of despair that had descended, the disbelief both dizzying and weighing down like a noose of steel around his neck.

"Oh, one last thing," he turned in the doorway, the light still in that same place upon him, "and I hope you won't mind me saying it, but I've been very impressed by what I've seen. I had thought you didn't give two hoots about what went on round here, but I was plainly mistaken. All you needed was a little kick up the arse."

As he smiled towards him, Gene felt his blood run cold. Right then he knew the weight of his actions and that he'd never again be free.

"I'll be watching you, DCI Hunt. Of that you can be certain."

* * *

 **A/N: _Every Breath You Take_ written by Sting, performed by The Police. I couldn't put any other song with Keats as it completely typifies how creepy he is.**

 **Sorry this chapter is quite dark, things will move on a bit further soon.**


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